TOTHFUL 

JANE  , 


MORSE  KINGSLHf 


Truthful  Jane 


Truthful  "Jane 

J  ^/ 


By 
FLORENCE    MORSE    KINGSLEY 

AUTHOR   OF 

"THE  SINGULAR   MISS  SMITH,"   "THE 

TRANSFIGURATION  OF   MISS 

PHILURA,"   ETC. 


D.   APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

NEW   YORK 

1907 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
FLORENCE  MORSE  KINGSLEY 


COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  February,  1907 


TRUTHFUL    JANE 


CHAPTER    I 

Miss  JANE  EVELYN  AUBREY-BLYTHE  stared 
steadily  at  the  toes  of  her  damp,  shabby  little 
boots  which  peeped  out  from  beneath  the  hem  of 
an  equally  damp  and  shabby  gown,  her  youthful 
brows  puckered  thoughtfully  over  a  pair  of  ex- 
traordinarily bright,  long-lashed  hazel  eyes. 
Miss  Blythe,  was  for  the  moment,  feeling  very 
much  out  of  it,  and  consequently  very  unhappy. 

The  room  in  which  she  was  sitting,  drying  her 
damp  boots  and  petticoats  by  a  smoldering  fire 
of  logs,  was  a  sufficiently  cheerful  one,  its  two 
large  windows  commanding  a  wide  view  of  red- 
tiled  London  roofs  and  glazed  chimney-pots,  all 
of  which  glistened  wetly  in  the  dull  light  of  the 
late  afternoon.  For  the  rest,  the  red  Turkey 
carpet  was  badly  worn  in  spots;  the  chairs  pre- 
sented the  appearance  of  veterans  staunchly  sur- 

I 


2136880 


Truthful     Jane 

viving  a  long  and  stormy  career;  while  the  two 
small  desks  piled  with  dog-eared  school-books 
exhibited  tokens  of  strenuous  usage  in  the  shape 
of  ineradicable  ink-stains,  which  served  to  diver- 
sify the  cuttings  and  carvings  of  inexpert  jack- 
knives,  stealthily  applied. 

At  opposite  sides  of  a  table  in  the  center  of 
the  room  two  small  boys  in  knickerbockers  were 
actively  engaged  in  a  competition  in  which 
large  china  mugs  of  milk  and  water,  and  thick 
slices  of  bread  and  butter  and  jam  figured  con- 
spicuously. 

"  You'd  better  come  to  your  tea,  Jane,  before 
we  eat  all  the  bread  and  butter,"  advised  one  of 
the  boys  thickly. 

"  I  don't  want  any  tea,  Cecil;  and  you 
shouldn't  talk  with  your  mouth  full;  it's  very 
rude,"  replied  the  girl  tartly. 

"  You'll  get  no  dinner,  you  know,  because 
there's  company,"  observed  the  other  boy,  slam- 
ming his  mug  on  the  table.  "  Old  Gwendolen 
won't  have  you  down  because  you're  so  much 
handsomer  than  she  is." 

2 


Truthful     Jane 

Jane  turned  a  distractingly  pretty  profile  to- 
ward the  speaker,  a  slight  smile  dimpling  the  cor- 
ners of  her  mouth.  "  You  oughtn't  to  say  such 
things,  Percy,"  murmured  the  girl  " — though  I 
dare  say  it's  true  enough,"  she  added  plaintively. 

The  two  boys,  having  variously  disposed  of 
the  thick  slices  of  bread  and  butter,  were  now 
causing  startling  explosions  to  issue  from  the 
depths  of  their  mugs. 

"  Put  down  your  mugs  this  instant!  "  ordered 
Miss  Ely  the  sternly.  "  Haven't  I  forbidden  you 
to  make  those  disgusting  noises  in  your  milk?  " 

"  You  have — yes,"  admitted  Cecil  coolly,  as 
he  sent  his  empty  mug  spinning  across  the  table ; 
"  but  who  cares  for  you,  anyway!  You're  only 
a  poor  relation !  " 

With  a  smothered  howl  of  rage  the  smaller 
Percy  arose  from  his  place  and  fell  upon  his 
brother,  who  received  the  attack  with  practiced 
courage,  while  Miss  Blythe  resumed  her  moody 
contemplation  of  her  steaming  boots. 

"You're  a  cad!" 

"You  lie!" 

3 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

"You're  another!" 

"Ouch!" 

"  Leggo !— Leggo,  I  say !  " 

The  tugging  and  panting  of  the  small  com- 
batants, and  the  scuffling  of  their  stout  little 
shoes  on  the  threadbare  carpet,  quite  drowned 
the  slight  sound  of  the  opening  door. 

"  Cecil  —  Percy  —  my  sons  I  "  exclaimed  a 
voice. 

Jane  Blythe  shrugged  her  slim  shoulders  wea- 
rily in  anticipation  of  what  was  to  follow. 

"  I  am  surprised  and  displeased,  Jane,  that 
you  should  permit  such  a  disgraceful  scene  to 
take  place  in  the  school-room  without  even  at- 
tempting to  quell  it,"  went  on  the  lady,  advan- 
cing majestically  into  the  center  of  the  floor. 
"What  do  I  see? — bread  and  butter  on  the 
floor,  on  the  sofa,  on  the — yes,  actually,  on  the 
mantle  \  and  milk —  Really,  Jane,  I  fear  you 
sadly  forget  your  duties  at  times." 

Miss  Blythe  had  risen,  apparently  that  she 
might  bring  her  bright  hazel  eyes  more  nearly 
on  a  level  with  the  frozen  blue  ones  behind  the 

4 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

double  glasses  which  pinched  the  lady's  aquiline 
nose. 

"  I  don't  forget  my  duties,  Aunt  Agatha,"  she 
said  distinctly;  "  but  I  think  you  have  forgotten 
to  pay  me  for  them." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  ungrateful  girl?  " 

"  I  mean  that  if  I  am  to  perform  the  duties  of 
a  nursery  governess  in  your  house  I  should  be 
paid  regular  wages  the  same  as  the  rest  of  the 
servants.  My  shoes  are  worn  through  the  soles, 
and  I  need — everything.  Even  Parks  dresses 
better  than  I  do.  She  can  afford  to." 

A  dead  silence  followed  this  clear  statement 
of  fact.  The  two  small  boys  were  sulkily  re- 
garding their  mother  from  beneath  their  light 
lashes,  who,  in  her  turn,  attempted  to  quell  the 
militant  light  in  the  eyes  of  the  girl. 

"  How — dare  you  say  such  a  thing  to  me !  " 
cried  the  lady  at  length.  "  And  before  the 
children,  too!  You  may  come  to  me  in  the 
library  to-morrow  morning,  Jane,  when  I  am  ex- 
amining the  accounts.  I  will  talk  with  you  then. 
In  the  meantime " — Lady  Agatha  Aubrey- 

5 


Truthful    Jane 

Blythe  paused  to  draw  her  rustling  gown  more 
closely  about  her  tall  figure — "  I  would  advise 
you  to  reflect  on  the  fact  that  when  you  were  en- 
tirely alone  in  the  world,  helpless  and  penniless, 
I  took  you  into  my  house  and  cared  for  you  like 
-like " 

Jane  Blythe  laughed  aloud.  It  was  a  dreary 
little  sound;  somehow  it  caused  Percy  to  clench 
his  small  fist  and  draw  a  little  nearer  to  his 
cousin. 

But  it  appeared  to  enrage  the  lady.  Her 
patrician  countenance  assumed  a  peculiar,  sickly, 
mottled  pink  color.  '  To-morrow,  at  ten,  in  the 
library,"  she  said  coldly.  "  And,  Jane,  as  Parks 
will  be  occupied  with  my  toilet,  I  should  like  you 
to  assist  Gwendolen.  You  may  go  down  now. 
Susan  will  put  this  disgracefully  untidy  room  to 
rights.  Cecil  and  Percy,  you  will  go  to  bed  at 
once — at  oncel  do  you  hear?" 

'  Yes,  mother,"  piped  the  two  small  scions  of 
the  house  of  Aubrey-Blythe  in  a  respectfully  sub- 
dued chorus.  After  which  they  proceeded  to 
thrust  their  agile  tongues  into  their  red  cheeks 

6 


Truthful     Jane 

and  bulge  out  their  round,  blue  eyes  behind  their 
maternal  relative's  august  back  as  she  turned  to 
leave  the  room. 

"  You'll  catch  it  to-morrow,  Miss  Jane — at 
ten — in  the  library!"  opined  Master  Cecil 
sagely.  "  I'll  bet  she'll  smack  you  with  the 
ruler." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Cecil,  and  come  on  to 
bed!  "  bawled  Percy,  "  or  you'll  be  the  one  to 
get  smacked  with  the  ruler." 

Miss  Blythe  had  walked  over  to  the  window 
and  was  looking  out  with  unseeing  eyes  into  the 
gathering  dusk. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  told  herself  forlornly.  "  I 
am  poorer  than  any  of  the  maids  in  the  house. 
I  hate  it !  Oh,  how  I  hate  it  all  \  "  She  wiped 
away  two  or  three  rebellious  tears  on  a  grimy 
little  pocket-handkerchief. 

A  servant  had  entered  and  was  somewhat 
noisily  gathering  the  empty  dishes  onto  a  tray. 
"  I  see  you've  'ad  no  tea,  miss,"  she  observed 
kindly.  "  Shan't  I  toast  you  a  bit  o'  bread  at 
the  fire  an'  fetch  some  more  jam?  " 

7 


Truthful    Jane 

"  No,  Susan,  thank  you ;  I  must  go  down 
now.  But  you're  very  kind  to  have  thought 
of  it." 

Jane's  smile  was  beautiful,  and  the  warm- 
hearted Susan,  for  one,  appreciated  it.  "  They'd 
orto  to  be  'shamed  o'  theirsel's,"  she  observed 
vaguely  to  the  tea  things,  as  the  girl  closed  the 
door  softly  behind  her.  "  An'  she's  pretty  's  a 
pink,  an'  that  sweet-mannered!  She'd  orto 
marry  a  r'yal  dook,  that  she  'ad;  an'  dress  in 
di'mon's  an'  satings  1  " 

Susan  was  in  the  habit  of  solacing  herself  with 
yellow-covered  romances  in  the  scant  leisure 
stolen  from  her  duties  as  housemaid,  and  of  late 
Miss  Jane  Evelyn  had  figured  as  the  heroine  of 
everyone  of  these  tales  in  the  honest  damsel's 
rather  crude  imaginings. 

As  Miss  Blythe  passed  down  the  dimly  lighted 
staircase  on  her  way  to  her  cousin's  room,  she 
was  startled  to  the  point  of  uttering  a  slight 
scream  by  a  dark  figure  which  darted  out  upon 
her  from  behind  a  tall  suit  of  armor  stationed 
on  the  landing. 

8 


Truthful     Jane 

"  O  Reginald !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  why  will 
you  play  such  baby  tricks,  now  that  you  are 
nearly  grown?  " 

"  *  Nearly  grown,'  indeed!  "  echoed  the  tall 
youth  in  a  displeased  voice.  "  I  am  grown. 
Look  at  me— away  over  your  head,  Miss  Jane  1 
I  say,  give  us  a  kiss,  will  you?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  I'll  not !  Get  out  of  my  way 
directly.  I'm  in  a  hurry !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  you've  lots  of  time  to  talk  to  me," 
chuckled  Reginald,  planting  his  ungainly  figure 
directly  across  the  stair.  "  And  you'll  not  go  a 
step  farther  till  you've  paid  toll.  Do  you  know, 
Jane,  you're  growing  deucedly  pretty — upon  my 
word!" 

"  Impudence !  "  cried  Jane  sharply.  "  If  you 
don't  let  me  go  this  instant  I'll  call  your 
mother." 

"  If  you  do  that,"  drawled  the  boy,  wagging 
his  head  threateningly,  "  I'll  tell  the  mater  you 
were  trying  to  kiss  me.  Then  you'd  catch  it; 
she'd  believe  me  every  trip." 

By  way  of  reply  to  this  taunt  Miss  Blythe 
9 


Truthful     Jane 

reached  up  and  dealt  the  tall  youth  a  stinging 
slap  on  his  beardless  cheek. 

"  Tell  her  that  a  girl  cuffed  you,  too,  baby!  " 
she  retorted,  and  slipped  past  him  like  a 
shadow. 

"  I'll  pay  you  out  for  that,  miss!  See  if  I 
don't!  "  threatened  Reginald.  But  Jane  was 
safely  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  too. 

The  tall  girl  seated  before  a  dressing  table, 
carefully  inspecting  a  rather  rough  and  muddy 
complexion  by  the  light  of  two  wax  candles, 
turned  frowning  eyes  upon  Jane  as  she  entered 
the  room. 

:'  Where  have  you  been  keeping  yourself, 
slow-poke?  "  she  inquired  crossly.  "  Don't  you 
know  I'll  be  late  if  I  don't  make  haste?  " 

"  You'd  better  make  haste  then,"  advised 
Jane  coolly,  advancing  with  her  hands  be- 
hind her  back.  Her  usually  pale  cheeks  were 
flushed  to  a  lovely  pink  by  her  triumphant 
escape  from  Reginald;  her  brown  hair,  ruffled 
into  crisp  waves,  fell  about  her  brilliant 
eyes.  "  What  do  you  want  me  to  do, 
10 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

Gwen — hook    up    your    frock?"    she    added 
carelessly. 

"  I  want  you  to  dress  my  feet  first,  and  be 
quick  about  it,  too,"  replied  Miss  Gwendolen 
haughtily.  "No;  not  those  pink  stockings! — 
I've  decided  to  wear  all  white  this  evening.  The 
open-work  silk  ones,  stupid !  What  is  the  mat- 
ter with  you,  anyway,  Jane?  You're  as  red  as 
a  lobster." 

Jane's  little  hands  trembled  as  she  pulled  the 
designated  hose  from  a  pile  of  party-colored 
ones  in  the  tumbled  drawer.  "  Here  are  your 
stockings,"  she  said  briefly.  "  Which  shoes  do 
you  want?  " 

'  The  white  suede  with  straps ;  they're  the 
freshest — and  do  make  haste !  "  replied  Gwen- 
dolen impatiently. 

Jane  set  the  large,  white,  high-heeled  shoes 
down  on  the  floor  beside  her  cousin's  chair  with 
a  loud  thump. 

'  Well,  aren't  you  ever  going  to  put  them 
on?"  demanded  Miss  Gwendolen,  kicking  her 
satin  bedroom  slippers  half  across  the  room. 

II 


Truthful     Jane 

"  No;  I'm  not.  You  can  put  them  on  your- 
self," said  Jane  deliberately.  "  Why  should  I 
put  on  your  shoes  and  stockings  for  you,  Gwen- 
dolen? You  never  put  on  mine  for  me — do 
you?" 

Gwendolen  stared  at  Jane's  rebellious  face  in 
silence.  She  was  a  dull  girl,  and  it  took  her 
some  time  to  understand  what  Jane  had  really 
said  to  her. 

"  Why,  why — "  she  stammered,  "  you  have 
always  done  as  you  were  told  before,  and —  I'll 
tell  mother,"  she  added,  an  ugly  frown  distort- 
ing her  face.  "  She'll  not  allow  you  to  be  im- 
pertinent to  me,  you  know." 

"  It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  be  imperti- 
nent to  you,  Gwendolen,"  said  Jane,  drawing  up 
her  little  figure  superbly.  "  One  cannot  be  im- 
pertinent to  one's  equals.  I'll  hook  up  your 
frock  for  you,  if  you  like,  because  you  are  my 
cousin,  and  I  ought  on  that  account  to  be  willing 
to  be  civil  to  you.  But  I  won't  put  on  your  stock- 
ings and  shoes  for  you,  so  you  may  as  well 
begin." 

12 


Truthful    Jane 

Gwendolen  stooped  and  drew  on  her  stockings 
in  sullen  silence ;  then  she  put  on  her  shoes.  "  I'll 
tell  mother,"  she  repeated  stupidly. 

"  You  may  tell  her  if  you  like,"  said  Jane 
airily.  "  And  you  may  tell  Lady  Maybury  that 
you  haven't  sense  enough  to  pull  on  your  stock- 
ings straight,  if  you  like.  I  don't  care." 

Gwendolen  looked  actually  frightened;  she 
peered  into  her  cousin's  face  with  her  ugly,  short- 
sighted eyes.  "  What  has  come  over  you, 
Jane?  "  she  asked  anxiously.  "  Oh,  I  do  believe 
you've  got  a  fever  and  are  out  of  your  head! 
Get  away  from  me — do !  Suppose  it  should  be 
smallpox,  and  I  should  catch  it — oh !  Go  away 
— quick !  Ring  the  bell  for  Susan  as  you  go  out. 
She  can  hook  my  frock,  and " 

Jane  pirouetted  out  of  the  door  like  a  sprite. 
"  Thank  you,  Gwen !  "  she  cried  mockingly. 
"  Yes,  I  fancy  I  have  a  fever.  But  you'll 
not  catch  it,  you  poor,  dear,  stupid  thing, 
you!" 

Then  she  darted  up  two  flights  of  stairs  to  her 
own  cold  little  room  under  the  roof,  where  she 

3  13 


Truthful    Jane 

flung  herself  face  downward  across  the  narrow 
bed  and  wept  tempestuously. 

"  O  God,  please  let  me  go  away  from  this 
house !  "  she  prayed  between  her  sobs.  "  I've 
been  good  and  patient  just  as  long  as  I  possibly 
can.  Things  will  have  to  change  I  " 

The  girl  was  truthful — even  with  herself — 
even  with  her  Creator. 


CHAPTER   II 

JANE  AUBREY-BLYTHE  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  weakly  shedding  tears;  nevertheless  on  this 
occasion  she  wept  herself  into  a  state  of  somno- 
lence like  a  whipped  child,  when  she  lay  quite 
still,  her  handkerchief  rolled  into  a  tight,  damp 
ball,  her  limp  figure  shaken  with  an  occasional 
recurrent  sob. 

"  They  are  all  too  hateful,"  she  murmured 
brokenly.  "  I  wish  something  would  happen — 
anything;  I  don't  care  what." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  something  did  happen 
almost  immediately.  As  Jane  was  sleepily  pull- 
ing the  blankets  about  her  chilly  shoulders, 
Susan's  honest  face,  shining  like  a  hard  red 
apple  in  the  light  of  the  candle  she  carried,  was 
thrust  inside  the  door. 

"  O  Miss  Jane  Evelyn,"  she  whispered,  "  are 
you  'ere?  " 

15 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"What  is  it,  Susan?"  demanded  Jane,  sit- 
ting up  and  winking  drowsily  at  the  candle 
flame. 

"  W'y>  you've  'ad  no  dinner,  miss,  an'  so  I've 
brought  you  a  bite  of  chicken  and  a  mouthful 
of  salad,"  said  Susan  briskly.  "  Just  you  lie 
back  comfortable-like  on  these  'ere  pillows,  miss, 
an'  I'll  bring  it  in  directly." 

"  But  I'm  not  ill,  Susan,  and  I'm  not  hungry," 
protested  Jane.  "  I — I'm  just  tired." 

"  You'll  be  ill  directly  if  you  don't  pick  a  bit 
o'  somethink,"  Susan  declared  oracularly,  "  an' 
you  that  slender  an'  delicate,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn." 
She  was  arranging  the  contents  of  a  neat  tray 
before  Jane  as  she  spoke.  "  Now  you  jus'  try 
a  mossel  o'  that  bird,  an'  you'll  find  it  tastes 
moreish,  or  I'm  mistook  i'  the  looks  o'  it.  Miss 
Gwendolen,  now,  is  that  thick  i'  the  waist  she 
might  go  wi'out  her  dinner  for  a  fortnight,  that 
she  might,  miss.  It  was  all  I  could  do  a-'ookin' 
up  'er  frock  this  very  evenin'.  '  You're  such  a 
stoopid,  Susan,'  she  says,  '  your  fingers  is  all 
thumbs.'  Then  she  turns  an'  twists  afore  'er 
16 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

glass  as  proud  as  proud,  though  the  Lord  knows 
she's  nothink  to  be  proud  of,  wi'  that  rough, 
muddy  skin  o'  hers,  alongside  of  yours,  Miss 
Jane  Evelyn." 

1  You  are  very  impertinent,  Susan,"  said  Jane 
reprovingly.  "  Gwen  can't  help  her  complexion, 
nor  her  thick  figure,  though  of  course  they  must 
get  on  her  nerves,  poor  thing."  And  Jane  dim- 
pled demurely,  as  she  tasted  her  salad  with 
appetite.  "  I  was  hungry,  after  all,"  she  ac- 
knowledged. 

Susan  gazed  at  the  young  lady  with  admiring 
eyes.  "  Of  course  you  were,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn," 
she  exulted,  "an5  I  knowed  it.  As  I  says  to 
cook,  *  Miss  Jane  Evelyn's  'ad  nary  bite  o'  sup- 
per,' I  says;  an'  cook  says  to  me,  '  Susan,'  she 
says,  '  you'll  find  a  tray  i'  th'  buttry,  once  I'm 
through  wi'  dishin'  up.'  ' 

Jane's  eyes  filled  with  fresh  tears;  and  she 
choked  a  little  over  her  tea.  "  You're  too  good, 
Susan,"  she  murmured,  "  and  so  is  cook,  to  think 
of  me  at  all." 

"  All  I  hasks  in  return,  miss,  is  that  you'll  take 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

me  on  as  lidy's  maid  once  you're  married  an' 
settled  in  a  'ome  o'  your  own." 

Jane  fixed  wistful  eyes  upon  Susan's  broad, 
kindly  face.  "  O  Susan,"  she  said,  "  do  you 
suppose  I'll  ever  have  a  home  of  my  own?  " 

"  Do  I  suppose  you'll  ever —  W'y,  land  o' 
love,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn,  in  course  you  will! 
Mussy  me,  don't  I  knowl  Ain't  I  seen  young 
ladies  in  my  time?  There  was  Miss  Constance 
and  Mary  Selwyn,  both  of  'em  thought  to  be 
beauties,  an'  me  scullery  maid  an'  seein'  'em  con- 
stant goin'  in  an'  out  of  their  kerridge  through 
the  area  windy,  where  I  was  put  to  clean  wege- 
tables ;  an'  they  wasn't  a  patch  on  you,  miss,  f er 
figure,  nor  yet  fer  complexion,  nor  yet  fer  eyes, 
nor  yet " 

"  O  Susan !  "  exclaimed  Jane  soulfully,  "  you 
oughtn't  to  talk  that  way.  I'm  not  at  all  pretty." 

"  You're  jus'  beautiful,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn," 
said  Susan  firmly,  "  beautiful  enough  fer  a  dook 
or  a  prince,  if  it's  only  me  as  says  it ;  an'  you'll 
see  what  you'll  see  some  o'  these  days,  that  you 
will.  W'y,  only  last  night  I  was  tellin'  your 
18 


Truth  f u 1    Jane 

fortin'  wi'  cards,  miss,  an'  the  dark  man  wi'  a 
crown  was  fightin'  a  dool  wi'  the  light  man,  an' 
all  for  the  love  of  you,  miss ;  an'  if  that  ain't  a 
sign  o'  somethin'  serious  then  I  don't  know  cards 
nor  fortins  neither." 

"  That  will  do,  Susan,"  said  Jane,  very  dig- 
nified indeed.  "  Thank  you  so  much  for  bring- 
ing me  something  to  eat,  and  will  you  thank  cook 
for  me,  too.  I  think  I  will  go  to  bed  now,  Susan, 
and  you  may  take  the  tray  away." 

"  I'll  take  the  tray  down  directly,  Miss  Jane 
Evelyn,"  said  honest  Susan,  quite  unabashed, 
"  but  go  to  bed  you'll  not,  miss,  because  the  mas- 
ter wishes  to  see  you  quite  pertic'lar  in  the  library 
when  'e's  through  'is  dinner." 

"What!  Uncle  Robert?"  exclaimed  Jane, 
flying  out  of  bed,  and  beginning  to  pull  the 
pins  out  of  her  tumbled  hair.  "  I  wonder  what 
he  can  possibly  want  with  me."  Her  little 
hands  trembled.  "  Oh,  I'm  afraid  Aunt  Ag- 
atha  !" 

"No;  it  ain't,  miss,"  beamed  Susan  encour- 
agingly. "  I'll  bet  it's  somethink  himportant, 

19 


Truthful     Jane 

that  I  do.  I  was  jus'  a-comin'  downstairs  after 
Miss  Gwendolen's  flowers,  an'  the  master  was 
standin'  in  the  'all.  '  Where's  Jane?  '  he  says  to 
my  Lidy.  '  She  should  be  down  by  this.'  An' 
my  Lidy  she  says,  'aughty  an'  cold-like,  '  Jane 
'ad  her  supper  in  the  school-room  with  the  chil- 
dren, as  usual,  to-night,'  she  says.  '  She  didn't 
care  to  come  down.'  *  Why,  dang  it,'  'e  says, 
or  some  such  word,  '  Jane  ought  to  be  down 
to-night  of  all  nights;  'aven't  you  told  her, 
madam?  '  *  No,'  says  my  Lidy,  *  I  'aven't.  I 
left  that  to  you.  Then  'e  turns  to  me,  an' 
horders  me  to  tell  you  to  be  in  the  library  at 
ten  o'clock,  an'  to  say  that  you  was  to  wait 
for  'im  there  till  'e  come.  It  ain't  much  after 
nine,  miss,  so  you've  time  a-plenty,  an'  I'll  'elp 
you  to  dress." 

Jane's  eyes  were  shining  like  frightened  stars. 
"Oh!"  she  murmured  brokenly,  "I  wonder 
what  it  can  be !  " 

"  Now,  don't  you  be  scared  ner  yet  worrited, 
Miss  Jane  Evelyn,"  exhorted  Susan,  her  head  in 
Jane's  little  wardrobe.  "  *  You  just  put  on  this 
20 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

'ere  white  frock  an'  I'll  'ook  it  up  fer  you.  But 
first  I'll  do  your  'air,  if  you'll  let  me." 

Jane  resigned  herself  with  a  sigh  to  Susan's 
deft  hands.  "  You  do  brush  my  hair  so  nicely, 
Susan,"  she  murmured,  after  a  long  silence  filled 
with  the  steady  stroking  of  the  brush  through 
her  long  brown  tresses. 

"  It's  the  Lord's  own  mussy  you'll  let  me  do 
it,  miss,"  cried  Susan  fervently,  "  else  a  'ouse- 
maid  I'd  live  an'  die,  an'  me  wantin'  to  be  a 
lidy's  maid  sence  I  was  knee  high  to  a  grass- 
'opper.  I  says  to  Miss  Gwendolen  on'y  yes- 
terday, *  Mayn't  I  brush  your  'air,  miss,'  I  says, 
'  Parks  bein'  busy,  I  think  I  can  do  it  satisfac- 
tory.' *  Go  'way,  Susan !  '  she  snaps  out,  *  do 
you  s'pose  I'd  'ave  your  great,  rough,  clumsy 
'ands  about  my  'ead?  '  she  says." 

"  Your  hands  are  not  rough,  nor  clumsy, 
either,"  said  Jane,  understanding  the  pause,  and 
filling  it  exactly  as  Susan  wished;  "  and  if  I  ever 
do  have  a  lady's  maid  it  shall  be  you,  Susan." 

4  Thank  you  kindly,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn," 
beamed  Susan.  "  Now  ain't  that  a  lovely  coffer? 
21 


Truth  f u  1    Jane 

I'll  bet  Parks  couldn't  do  no  better  nor  that  in  a 
hundred  years!  But  it  'ud  be  a  simple  idgit 
what  couldn't  do  your  'air,  miss;  it's  that  soft 
an'  shinin'  an'  curls  itself  better  nor  curlin'-tongs 
could  do  it." 

All  of  which  was  strictly  true,  as  Jane's  brown 
eyes  told  her.  Then  the  white  frock  was  care- 
fully put  on,  and  Susan  next  produced  from 
somewhere  three  great  creamy  buds,  one  of 
which  she  fastened  behind  Miss  Blythe's  pretty 
pink  ear ;  the  other  two  she  pinned  to  the  modest 
little  bodice,  standing  off  to  survey  her  handi- 
work with  an  air  of  honest  pride. 

"  I  'ooked  them  three  roses  from  Miss  Gwen- 
dolen's bouquet,"  she  announced  unblushingly, 
"  an'  a  mighty  good  job  it  were." 

"  Then  I'll  not  wear  them,"  said  Jane  decid- 
edly. "  You  may  take  them  away,  Susan.  I 
may  be  forced  to  wear  Gwen's  cast-off  frocks; 
but  I'll  not  wear  her  flowers !  " 

An  ethical  differentiation  which  it  would  have 
puzzled  Miss  Blythe  to  explain,  and  which  left 
poor  Susan  .in  open-mouthed  dismay. 

22 


Truth  f u 1    Jane 

"  She's  a  reg'lar  lidy,  is  Miss  Jane  Evelyn,  as 
ever  was,"  cogitated  that  worthy  hand-maiden, 
as  Jane's  light  step  passed  down  the  corridor, 
"  'igh  an'  'aughty  as  the  'aughtiest,  yet  that 
sweet  an'  lovely  in  her  w'ys  I  can't  'elp  a-wor- 
shipin'  the  ground  she  walks  on.  It's  a  dook  or 
a  lord  as  ought  to  marry  Miss  Jane  Evelyn,  an* 
it's  me  as  '11  be  her  lidy's  maid."  And  she  pro- 
ceeded to  put  the  poor  little  room  with  its  shabby 
appointments  into  truly  exquisite  order  with  all 
the  zeal  born  of  her  anticipations. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  library  when  Jane  en- 
tered it,  so  she  sat  down  in  one  of  the  great 
carved  chairs  by  the  fire,  feeling  very  small  and 
young  and  lonely.  The  gentle  hum  of  conversa- 
tion and  the  subdued  tinkle  of  glass  and  silver 
reached  her  where  she  sat,  and  between  curtained 
doorways  she  could  catch  glimpses  of  the  softly 
lighted  drawing-room  beyond,  gay  with  masses 
of  azaleas  and  ferns. 

After  a  little  Jane  found  herself  busy  with 
dim  memories  of  her  past.  She  had  been  a  child 
of  three  when  her  father  and  mother  died,  within 
23 


Truthful    Jane 

a  month  of  each  other,  she  had  been  told;  the 
broken-hearted  young  wife  apparently  not  car- 
ing enough  for  her  one  child  to  face  her  bleak 
future. 

"  Oliver  Aubrey-Blythe's  wife  was  an  exceed- 
ingly weak  woman,"  Lady  Agatha  had  once  told 
Jane  cruelly ;  "  and  I  feel  that  it  is  my  duty  to 
train  you  into  something  far  different,  if  such  a 
thing  is  at  all  possible." 

Jane's  little  hands  grew  quite  cold,  as  she 
strove  vainly  to  fix  the  illusive  memory  of  the 
two  faces  which  had  bent  over  her  on  the  day 
she  had  fallen  into  the  fountain  at  Blythe  Court. 
She  remembered  the  fountain  distinctly,  with  its 
darting  goldfish  and  the  stout  cherub  in  the  mid- 
dle staggering  under  the  weight  of  an  impossible 
dolphin  from  whose  open  mouth  gushed  a  daz- 
zling jet  of  water. 

There  were  blue  flowers  growing  about  the 
edge  of  the  marble  basin,  and  she  had  recklessly 
trampled  them  under  foot  in  her  baby  efforts  to 
grasp  a  particularly  beautiful  goldfish.  The 
rest  was  a  blur,  wherein  dazzling  blue  sky  seen 
24 


Truthful     Jane 

through  green  waving  treetops  an  immense  dis- 
tance away  made  a  background  for  the  two  shad- 
owy figures  which  stood  out  from  the  others. 
It  was  pleasant  at  the  bottom  of  the  fountain, 
Jane  remembered,  where  one  could  look  up 
through  the  clear  water  and  see  the  far  blue  sky 
and  the  waving  trees.  For  an  instant  she  paused 
to  wonder  what  would  have  happened  had  the 
shadowy  figures  of  her  parents  been  farther  away 
when  she  shrieked  and  fell — quite  at  the  other 
side  of  the  garden,  say.  Would  the  blue  sky  and 
the  waving  trees  have  faded  quite  away  into 
nothingness  after  a  little?  And  was  something- 
ness  so  much  better  than  nothingness,  after  all? 
But  all  this  ghostly  cogitation  being  quite  at 
variance  with  Miss  Blythe's  usual  optimistic  and 
cheerfully  human  way  of  looking  at  things,  she 
presently  abandoned  it  altogether  to  speculate 
on  the  nature  of  the  interview  with  her  uncle,  an 
event  which  certainly  concerned  her  immediate 
fortunes  much  more  intimately.  Mr.  Robert 
Aubrey-Blythe  was  an  exalted  personage  with 
whom  Jane  felt  herself  to  be  very  slightly  ac- 
25 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

quainted.  He  was  kind;  yes,  certainly.  Jane 
could  not  recall  a  single  occasion  upon  which  he 
had  spoken  to  her  in  a  manner  even  remotely  ap- 
proaching unkindness.  Indeed,  he  very  rarely 
spoke  to  her  at  all  beyond  a  curt c  Good  evening, 
Jane  '  when  she  slipped  into  her  place  at  the 
family  dinner  table.  Twice  before  this  she  had 
been  summoned  to  the  library;  each  time  to 
receive  a  perfunctory  rebuke  for  some  childish 
piece  of  mischief,  reported  presumably  by  Lady 
Agatha ;  whereat  she  had  gone  away  shaking  in 
her  small  shoes  to  lead  a  blameless  existence 
for  many  days  thereafter. 

"  Aunt  Agatha  has  told  Uncle  Robert  what 
I  said  to  her  about  being  paid  for  teaching  Percy 
and  Cecil,"  the  girl  decided.  "  Well,  I  hope  she 
has.  I  don't  mind  being  a  nursery  governess, 
not  in  the  least;  but  I  hate — hate — hate  the 
way  I  am  living  now.  Even  the  servants 
pity  me!  " 

She  stood  up  and  drew  her  slight  figure  to  its 
full  height  as  she  heard  the  swish  and  rustle  of 
silken  skirts  in  the  corridor;  the  women  were 
26 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

coming  away  from  table.  It  was  a  small  party, 
after  all.  Jane  watched  the  vanishing  trains 
of  the  five  dinner-gowns  with  a  speculative 
smile.  How  would  it  seem,  she  wondered,  to  be 
beautifully  dressed  every  night  and  dine  with 
guests  who  were  not  forever  carping  at  one,  but 
whose  chief  business  in  life  it  was  to  be  agree- 
able. Then  she  faced  about  at  sound  of  her 
cousin  Gwendolen's  voice. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  here,  Jane?"  de- 
manded that  young  lady  snappishly,  as  she  ad- 
vanced to  the  fire. 

"  Waiting  for  Uncle  Robert,"  Jane  told  her 
briefly. 

Gwendolen  frowned  and  twisted  her  rings  so 
as  to  make  them  sparkle  in  the  firelight.  "  How 
very  coy  and  unconscious  we  are!"  she  said 
sneeringly.  Then  suddenly  she  burst  into  a  dis- 
agreeable laugh. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at,  Gwen?  "  asked 
Jane,  with  real  curiosity. 

11  At  you,  goose,"  replied  Miss  Aubrey-Blythe 
crossly.  She  turned  and  moved  toward  the  door. 
27 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  Don't  you  know  what  papa  wants  with  you?  " 
she  paused  to  demand. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Jane  steadily.  "  Do 
you?" 

But  Miss  Gwendolen  merely  shrugged  her 
ugly  shoulders  as  she  dropped  the  heavy  cur- 
tains into  place  behind  her. 


28 


CHAPTER    III 

WHEN  Mr.  Robert  Aubrey-Blythe  finally  en- 
tered the  library,  it  was  with  the  pleasant  glow 
of  a  good  dinner,  good  wine,  and  good  company 
enveloping  his  portly  form  like  a  visible  halo. 
He  actually  bowed  before  Jane,  as  though  she 
were  a  great  lady  of  his  acquaintance,  instead  of 
his  niece,  left  on  his  hands  to  bring  up  with 
scarce  a  penny  to  her  name. 

"  Ah,  Jane,"  he  began,  swelling  out  the  shin- 
ing expanse  of  his  shirt  front  like  a  pouter 
pigeon,  "  I  see — er — that  you  are  here,  as  I 
bade  you." 

'  Yes,  Uncle  Robert,"  murmured  Jane,  with 
a  beating  heart;  "  you  wished  to  speak  with  me, 
sir?  " 

"I  did,  Jane;  I  did  indeed.  Ah — er — you 
may  be  seated,  if  you  please,  Jane." 

Jane  obeyed. 

3  29 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

"  Why — er — did  you  not  come  down  to  din- 
ner to-night,  Jane?  "  Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe  wanted 
to  know  next,  his  remark  being  prefaced  by  a 
long  and  speculative  stare  at  Jane's  small  person. 
He  appeared  indeed  to  be  looking  at  his  niece 
for  the  first  time. 

"  Because  I  wasn't  asked,  sir." 

"  Hum — ah;  it  was  an  oversight,  Jane.  You 
should  have  dined  with  us  to-night." 

Jane  was  puzzled.  She  stole  a  glance  at  her 
uncle's  eminently  respectable  British  visage,  with 
just  a  fleeting  wonder  as  to  the  amount  of  wine 
he  had  drunk  at  dinner.  But  no ;  he  was  unde- 
niably sober,  not  to  say  serious;  his  eyes  were 
still  fixed  upon  herself  with  that  singularly  specu- 
lative gaze. 

"  You  have — er — made  your  home  with  us 
for  many  years — that  is  to  say,  since  your  in- 
fancy, Jane,  and  I — er — trust  that  these  have 
been  not  unhappy  years — eh,  Jane?  " 

Jane  folded  one  cold  little  hand  over  the 
other ;  it  was  as  she  thought,  she  told  herself  an- 
grily, Aunt  Agatha  had  blabbed.  "  Since  you 
30 


Truth  f u 1    Jane 

have  asked  me,  Uncle  Robert,"  she  said  dis- 
tinctly, "  I  will  tell  you  that  they  have  been  very 
unhappy  years.  I  simply  hate  my  life  in  this 
house."  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  fixed 
her  clear  eyes  upon  her  uncle.  Manifestly  he 
was  astounded  by  her  reply. 

"Why,  why,  why — upon  my  word!"  he 
stammered  at  length.  "  I  am — er — shocked  to 
hear  you  speak  in  that  manner.  What — er — 
what,  in  short,  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  should  rather  go  away  and  earn  my  liv- 
ing," said  Jane  desperately.  "  I  suppose  Aunt 
Agatha  has  told  you  what  I  said  to  her  in  the 
schoolroom  to-night ;  but  I  meant  it ;  I  shouldn't 
mind  being  a  nursery  governess  in  the  least, 
and  " — forlornly — "  it  is  all  I  am  good  for." 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  remonstrated  Mr.  Aubrey- 
Blythe  with  some  sternness.  "  You  quite  mis- 
understand me,  I  see.  Now,  I  beg  that  you  will 
have  the  goodness  to  attend  me  while  I  explain 
more  fully  why  I  have  sent  for  you." 

But  he  made  no  haste  to  enter  upon  the  prom- 
ised explanation,  again  fixing  his  eyes  upon  his 


Truthful    Jane 

niece  in  a  long,  contemplative  gaze.  What  he 
saw  must  have  clarified  his  ideas  somewhat,  for 
he  presently  went  on  more  briskly. 

"  Whether  you  have  been  happy  or  not  during 
your  years  of  residence  under  my  roof  matters 
little  with  regard  to — er — what  I  am  about  to 
say,  Jane.  I  have,  in  short,  a  proposal  for  your 
hand." 

"  A  what?  "  gasped  Jane. 

"  A  proposal  of  marriage  was  what  I  said," 
repeated  Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe  rebukingly.  "  A 
most  honorable  and — er — highly  flattering  pro- 
posal, in  short.  I  own  that  I  was  surprised,  and 
so— er — was  my  wife,  Lady  Agatha." 

Jane's  own  emotions  were  clearly  depicted 
upon  her  young  face.  She  was  leaning  forward 
in  her  chair,  her  large  eyes  fixed  upon  her  uncle. 

"  Who — "  she  began;  then  stopped  short. 

"  You  have,  of  course,  met  the  gentleman  who 
has  paid  you  this  great  compliment — the  highest 
compliment — er — that  man  can  pay  to  woman," 
proceeded  Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe  grandly.  '  The 
proposal  reached  me  by  letter  last  week,  and  the 
32 


Truthful    Jane 

author  of  that  letter  was  " — he  paused  dramati- 
cally— "  the  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle." 

The  girl  burst  into  a  hysterical  laugh. 

"  Jane,  I  beg —  Will  you  not  control  your- 
self, madam?  Ah — er — I  see  I  shall  be  forced 
to  call  Lady  Agatha." 

Jane  instantly  became  calm.  "  Don't — please 
don't  call  Aunt  Agatha,"  she  begged.  "  It  was 
only — I  couldn't  help  thinking " 

"  I  trust  you  will  reflect  carefully  as  to  what 
this  proposal  means  for  you,  Jane.  I  confess 
that  I  should  have  been — er — not  displeased  had 
the  proposal  embraced  a  different— that  is  to 
say — er — had  the  recipient  of  it  been  my  own 
daughter,  I  should  have  been  disposed  to  con- 
sider it  not  unfavorably.  Lady  Agatha  was  at 
first  convinced  that  the  gentleman  had,  in  short, 
committed  a  most  egregious  blunder;  but  I  am 
assured  by  word  of  mouth  that  this  is  not  the 
case.  It  is  you,  Jane,  he  wishes  to  make  his  wife ; 
you  and  no  other.  And  I  congratulate  you  sin- 
cerely upon  the  auspicious  event.  I  will  not  deny 
that  your  future  has  been  an  occasional  source  of 

33 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

keen  anxiety  to  me,  and  also,  I  believe,  to  my 
wife,  Lady  Agatha;  portionless  brides  are  not 
commonly  sought  by  men — er — whose  position 
in  life  is  that  of  the  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle." 

"But — Uncle  Robert;  you  can't  mean  that 
I —  You  know  I — couldn't  marry  that  man, 
Uncle  Robert." 

"  You  could  not  marry  the  Hon.  Wipplinger 
Towle?  Surely,  I  do  not  understand  you  cor- 
rectly, Jane.  I  perceive  that  you  have  been 
greatly  surprised  by  the  nature  of  my  disclosure, 
totally  unprepared  for  it  as  you  were.  And 
this  much  I  regret,  my  dear  child.  You  should 
have  been  apprised  of  the  facts,  you  should 
indeed." 

Jane's  heart  was  touched  by  the  faint  cadence 
of  affection  in  the  man's  voice.  "  O  Uncle  Rob- 
ert !  "  she  cried,  "  do  you  look  at  all  like  my 
father  ?  Do  tell  me  that  you  do ;  I  should  so  love 
to  think  so !  " 

Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe  shook  his  head.  "  I  do 
not  resemble  my  deceased  brother  Oliver  in  the 
smallest  particular,"  he  said  dryly.  "  And  I 
34 


Truthful     Jane 

have  never  felt  that  this  was  a  cause  of  regret. 
Oliver  was  a  most  injudicious  and  hasty  tem- 
pered person ;  his  early  death  and  many  misfor- 
tunes were  undoubtedly  brought  about  by  his 
own  deplorable  imprudence.  I  have  often 
thought  " — deliberately — "  that  you  resemble 
him,  Jane." 

11  I'm  glad  I  do!  "  retorted  Jane.  "  And  I 
may  as  well  say  once  for  all,  Uncle  Robert,  that 
I  will  not  marry  the  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle. 
You  may  tell  him  so." 

Mr.  Robert  Aubrey-Blythe  regarded  his  niece 
with  a  portentous  gathering  of  his  bushy  eye- 
brows. "  I  beg,  Jane,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will 
not  decide  this  matter  hastily.  There  are,  in 
short,  many  reasons  why  you  should  marry,  and 
I  will  not  deny  that  I  regard  the  present  pro- 
posal as  most  opportune.  I  have,  in  short,  given 
the  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle  my  full  per- 
mission to  pay  his  addresses  to  you.  He  dined 
with  us  this  evening,  and — er — expects,  I  be- 
lieve, the  opportunity  of  pleading  his  own 


35 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  go  away,  Uncle  Rob- 
ert? "  faltered  Jane,  quite  overcome.  "  Do  you 
hate  me,  too?  " 

"  Certainly  not — decidedly  not,  Jane.  You 
— er — put  the  matter  in  most  unwarranted 
terms.  But  I  believe  that  you  would  be  far  hap- 
pier in  an  establishment  of  your  own.  In  fact, 
you  have  already  intimated  something  of  the 
sort  in  the  course  of  our  conversation.  Am  I 
not  right?" 

"  I  said  I  should  rather  be  a  nursery  gover- 
ness," said  Jane  doggedly.  "  I  can  do  that;  I 
have  taught  Percy  and  Cecil  ever  since  Miss 
Craddock  went  away,  and " 

Mr.  Robert  Aubrey-Blythe  rose  abruptly. 
"  No,  Jane — I  beg —  Keep  your  seat,  if  you 
please.  I  will  send  Mr.  Towle  to  you  at  once. 
You  are,  of  course,  at  liberty  to  do  as  you  wish 
in  the  matter.  But  as  your  eldest  surviving  male 
relative  I  most  strongly  advise  that  you  listen  to 
his  suit  patiently  and  give  him  the  answer  that 
he  wishes  and — er — expects." 

Jane   stretched  out  her   hands   imploringly. 

36 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Dear  Uncle  Robert,"  she  whispered;  "  please, 
Uncle  Robert — just  a  minute !  " 

But  he  was  gone,  and  Jane  sank  back  in  her 
chair  with  a  sob.  "  Oh,  if  he  would  only  love 
me  a  little !  "  she  thought.  Then  she  sat  up  very 
straight  and  calm;  somebody  was  approaching. 

The  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle  was  a  tall  man, 
even  taller  than  Mr.  Robert  Aubrey-Blythe. 
He  was  also  exceedingly  lean,  and  bald — quite 
bald.  Jane  mechanically  noted  the  dull  pale 
glisten  of  his  scalp  as  he  crossed  the  wide  ex- 
panse of  Turkey  carpet  which  intervened  be- 
tween herself  and  the  curtained  doorway. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Towle,"  she  said  calmly, 
offering  the  tips  of  her  chilly  little  fingers  with 
extreme  nonchalance. 

The  Honorable  Wipplinger  was  evidently 
somewhat  agitated  in  a  perfunctory,  elderly  way. 
That  he  was  likewise  perfectly  confident  as  to  the 
outcome  of  the  interview  Jane  thought  she  per- 
ceived, with  an  involuntary  deepening  of  the 
dimple  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth. 

"  Hum — ah,"  he  began,  fixing  his  glass  firmly 

37 


Truth  fu  1     Jane 

in  place.  "  You  were  not  dining  at  home  this 
evening,  Miss  Blythe?  I  was — er — frightfully 
disappointed,  upon  my  word;  I  had  been — ah — 
led  to  expect — ah — that  is,  I  hoped  that  I  should 
see  you  earlier  in  the  evening." 

"  I  never  come  down  when  Aunt  Agatha  has 
guests,"  said  Jane,  putting  her  pretty  head  on 
one  side  and  gazing  at  her  elderly  suitor  contem- 
platively. He  was  quite  as  old  as  Uncle  Robert, 
she  decided,  and  sufficiently  ugly  to  look  at,  with 
his  bald  head  and  his  tall,  square-shouldered 
figure.  For  the  rest,  the  Hon.  Wipplinger 
Towle  was  possessed  of  a  stubborn-looking  chin, 
deep-set  gray  eyes,  and  a  well-cut  mouth,  amply 
furnished  with  strong  white  teeth. 

Jane  gently  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  she 
dropped  her  bright  eyes  to  her  lap.  "  I  fancy  I 
should  have  starved  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Susan," 
she  finished. 

Mr.  Towle  glanced  at  her  quickly.  "Hum 
— ah,  Susan?  "  he  hesitated;  "  and  who,  if  I  may 
ask,  is  Susan?  " 

"  Susan  is  the  under  housemaid,"  replied 
38 


Truthful     Jane 

Jane  sweetly.  "  She  brought  me  up  some  sup- 
per on  a  tray.  Wasn't  it  nice  of  her?  " 

Mr.  Towle  made  several  small  uncertain 
sounds  in  his  throat,  which  resembled — Jane  re- 
flected— the  noises  made  by  an  ancient  clock  on 
the  point  of  striking.  Then  he  stared  hard  at 
Jane,  again  adjusting  his  monocle.  "  Hum — 
ah,  Miss  Blythe,"  he  began,  "  I — er — in  point 
of  fact,  I  have  the  very  great  honor  to  be  per- 
mitted to  pay  you  my  addresses,  and  so " 

Jane  turned  pale.  "  Please  don't  mention  it," 
she  interrupted. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  observed  Mr.  Towle 
interrogatively,  "  you  were  saying " 

"  I  said,  please  don't  talk  about  it.  I — I 
couldn't,  you  know;  though  I'm  sure  it's  very 
kind — at  least,  Uncle  Robert  said  it  was —  A 
compliment,  I  believe  he  called  it." 

"  One  I  am — er — delighted  to  pay  to  so  lovely 
a  creature  as  yourself,"  murmured  Mr.  Towle 
laboriously. 

"  How  dare  you  say  such  a  silly  thing 
to  me !  "  snapped  Jane,  her  hazel  eyes  blazing. 
39 


Truthful     Jane 

"  I'm  not  a  lovely  creature,  and  I  won't  be 
called  so." 

"  Why — er — I  beg  your  pardon,  I'm  sure," 
stuttered  the  abashed  suitor.  "  But  I  have  the 
full  permission  of  Lady  Agatha  and  Mr.  Aubrey- 
Blythe,  and  I  thought —  But  surely  you  cannot 
have  understood  that  I  " — swelling  visibly  with 
a  sense  of  his  own  importance,  Jane  was  resent- 
fully sure — "  desire  to  make  you  my  wife.  I 
wish  you,  in  short,  to  make  me  the  happiest  man 
in  London  by — er — becoming  Mrs.  Towle. 
And  may  I,  my  dear  Miss  Aubrey-Blythe,  beg 
you  to  name  an  early  day — a  very  early  day  for 
the  celebration  of  our  nuptials.  The  matter  of 
settlements  and  all  that  can  be  quickly  arranged; 
and  I  beg  to  assure  you  that  they  shall  be  sat- 
isfactory— quite  satisfactory,  as  I  have  already 
taken  the  pains  to  assure  your  uncle,  Mr. 
Aubrey-Blythe.  I  can,  in  short,  afford  to  be 
generous,  and — er — I  desire  to  be  so." 

Mr.  Towle  paused  in  his  halting  discourse  to 
draw  a  small  box  from  his  waistcoat  pocket. 
Jane  watched  him  in  fascinated  silence  as  he 
40 


Truthful     Jane 

opened  it  and  drew  from  its  satin  nest  a  hoop 
of  diamonds. 

"  I  hope  you  will  allow  me,"  murmured  the 
Honorable  Wipplinger,  bending  forward. 

"  No !  "  cried  Jane.  "  I  say  no  \  "  She  stood 
up,  very  pale  and  unapproachable.  "  I  ought 
not  to  have  allowed  you  to  say  all  this 
to  me,"  she  said.  "  I  do  thank  you  for  want- 
ing me  to  marry  you;  but,  of  course,  it  is  im- 
possible." 

"  Why  do  you  say  *  of  course  '  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Towle,  in  a  surprisingly  human  voice.  "  Do  you 
enjoy  your  life  here  so  much?  " 

"No,"  said  Jane,  "I  do  not;  but  I'll  not 
marry  to  escape  from  it." 

The  Honorable  Wipplinger  deliberately  re- 
turned the  hoop  of  diamonds  to  its  nest,  snapped 
the  lid  of  the  box  shut,  and  slipped  it  back  into 
his  waistcoat  pocket.  "  I  didn't  go  at  it  right," 
he  observed  meditatively.  "  Robert  should  have 
warned  me."  He  turned  to  Jane  once  more. 
"  Do  you — er — mind  telling  me  just  why  you 
have  turned  me  down  so  squarely?  " 
41 


Truthful     Jane 

"  I'd  much  rather  not,"  said  Jane,  blushing. 
"  You  wouldn't  like  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  should.  For  one  thing,  you  think 
I'm  horribly  old;  don't  you?  " 

"  Well,  you  are;  aren't  you?  " 

"  Not  so  very.  I  lost  my  hair  in  a  beastly 
fever  I  had  in  India  ten  years  ago,  and  it  would 
never  grow  on  top  after  that.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  I'm  only  forty." 

"  Forty  1  "  repeated  Jane,  in  an  indescribable 
voice.  "  Why  that — "  She  stopped  short. 
"  I'd  much  better  say  good  night  at  once,"  she 
said  contritely,  "  and — and  truly  I  do  thank  you. 
I  didn't  suppose  anyone  in  the  world  would  ever 
care  about  me.  And  you " 

"  I  certainly  do,"  said  Mr.  Towle  resignedly. 
"  But  I  went  about  saying  it  like  a  jackass.  To 
tell  you  the  honest  truth  I  was  in  a  regular  blue 
funk.  I  never  proposed  marriage  to  a  woman 
before,  and  I  never  shall  again.  Of  course,  you 
don't  know  me  very  well,  Miss  Blythe;  but  I'm 
a  whole  lot  nicer  than  I  look.  If  you  only 

could " 

42 


Truthful     Jane 

Jane  shook  her  head  decidedly.  "  I'd  like 
you  awfully  well  for — for  an  uncle,"  she  said 
regretfully,  u  or  a — grandfather —  There !  I 
oughtn't  to  have  said  that.  You're  really  not 
old  enough  for  a  grandfather.  But  mine  are 
both  dead,  and  I've  always  thought  it  would  be 
lovely  to  have  one." 

Mr.  Towle  swallowed  hard.  "  Go  on,"  he 
said  encouragingly,  "  you'd  like  me  well  enough 
for  a — a  grandfather,  but  not  for  a  husband. 
Is  that  what  you  meant  to  say?  " 

"  It  wasn't  a  bit  nice  of  me  to  say  it;  but  then 
I'm  always  saying  dreadful  things.  That  is 
why  " — dejectedly — "  nobody  likes  me." 

The  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle  gazed  down  at 
the  little  figure  with  a  very  kind  look  indeed  in 
his  deep-set  gray  eyes.  "  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "  I 
might  have  known  better.  I  did  know  better,  in 
fact.  But  from  something  Lady  Agatha  said 
to  me  I  fancied  that  perhaps  I — that  perhaps 
you " 

Jane  held  out  her  hand.  "  Good  night,"  she 
said. 

43 


Truthful    Jane 

Mr.  Towle  took  the  offered  hand  in  his  very 
gently.  It  was  cold,  and  the  small  fingers  trem- 
bled a  little  in  his  own  big,  warm  palm.  "  Good 
night,"  he  said;  "  I  can't — by  force  of  cruel  cir- 
cumstances— be  your — er — grandfather;  but  I'd 
like  to  be  your  friend,  Jane ;  may  I  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Jane,  smiling  up  into  the 
keen  gray  eyes,  "  you  may.  And — and  I  thank 
you  a  whole  lot  for  being  so— game." 


44 


CHAPTER    IV 

LADY  AGATHA  AUBREY-BLYTHE  looked  up 
from  the  housekeeper's  book  which  she  was  in- 
specting with  displeased  interest,  and  turned  her 
light  blue  eyes  upon  her  husband's  niece,  as  she 
stood  a  forlorn  yet  rigidly  defiant  little  figure,  her 
back  against  the  closed  door.  "  You  may  come 
in,  Jane,  and  sit  down,"  said  Lady  Agatha,  in 
precisely  the  same  tone  she  would  have  used  to 
a  delinquent  housemaid. 

Jane  advanced  and  sat  down,  every  line  of  her 
face  and  figure  expressing  an  exasperating  indif- 
ference to  the  stately  hauteur  of  the  lady,  who 
on  her  part  proceeded  to  concentrate  her  entire 
attention  upon  a  bundle  of  tradesmen's  accounts, 
which  she  compared  one  by  one  with  the  entries 
in  the  housekeeper's  book. 

This  went  on  for  some  twenty  minutes,  dur- 
ing which  period  Jane  stared  unremittingly  out 
4  45 


Truth  f u 1    Jane 

of  the  window  against  which  a  cold  rain  was 
beating. 

Then  Lady  Agatha  spoke:  "  I  have  purposely 
detained  you  in  complete  silence,  Jane,  that  you 
might  reflect  quietly  upon  your  present  position 
in  life.  I  trust  you  have  made  good  use  of  the 
opportunity." 

Jane  made  no  reply ;  but  she  withdrew  her  eyes 
from  the  dripping  window  pane  and  fixed  them 
upon  her  aunt.  In  return,  Lady  Agatha  focused 
her  frozen  stare  upon  the  girl.  "  Is  it  possible 
that  you  had  the  presumption  to  refuse  Mr. 
Towle's  offer  of  marriage  last  night?  "  she  asked 
with  an  indescribable  mixture  of  unwilling  re- 
spect and  cold  dislike  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Agatha,  I  did,"  said  Jane,  a  faint 
expression  of  regret  passing  over  her  face. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I — couldn't — love  him." 

Lady  Agatha  scowled.  "  I  cannot  understand 
what  attracted  the  man  to  you  in  the  first  place," 
she  said  disdainfully.  "  I  believe  he  only  saw 
you  twice." 

46 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

'  Three  times,"  Jane  corrected  her. 
'  You  are  not,"  said  Lady  Agatha,  pausing  to 
contemplate  the  girl's  face  and  figure  with  the 
air  of  one  examining  a  slightly  damaged  article 
of  merchandise,  "  at  all  attractive.  You  have 
neither  beauty  nor  style,  and  you  are  not  in  the 
least  clever." 

Jane  appeared  to  grow  smaller  in  her  chair. 
She  sighed  deeply. 

"  Besides  all  this,"  went  on  Lady  Agatha  mer- 
cilessly, "  you  are  practically  penniless.  I  cannot 
understand  how  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Towle,  ex- 
ceptionally well  connected  and  very  wealthy, 
ever  came  to  think  of  such  a  thing  as  marrying 
you  \  But  " — spitefully — "  I  dare  say  you  know 
well  enough  how  it  came  about." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Aunt 
Agatha,"  stammered  poor  Jane. 

"  Have  you  never  met  Mr.  Towle,  quite  by 
accident,  we  will  say,  on  the  street,  or " 

"  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing  to  me,  Aunt 
Agatha !  "  cried  Jane,  "  as  if  I  were  a — servant, 
or  a — a  quite  common  person.  I  never  saw  Mr. 

47 


Truthful    Jane 

Towle  except  in  this  house,  and  I  never  spoke 
three  words  to  him  before  last  night.  And — 
and  I  do  like  him,  because  he — likes  me.  But  I 
cannot  marry  hhn  on  that  account." 

Lady  Agatha  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a 
hateful  smile.  "  Oh,  I  dare  say  Mr.  Towle  will 
be  very  glad  of  the  outcome  later  on,"  she  said 
carelessly.  "It  is  not  easy  to  account  for  the 
vagaries  of  elderly  men.  But  it  was  not  to  speak 
of  this  absurd  contretemps  that  I  sent  for  you 
this  morning,  Jane;  Gwendolen  reported  to  me 
what  took  place  in  her  room  last  night,  and  at 
first  I  contemplated  referring  the  whole  matter 
to  your  uncle;  but " 

Lady  Agatha  paused  to  note  the  gleam  of 
hope  which  lighted  up  the  girl's  expressive  fea- 
tures, only  to  fade  as  she  went  on  in  her  peculiar- 
ly frigid,  precise  way: 

"  I  finally  thought  best  to  settle  the  question 
with  you.  Your  proposal  that  I  should  pay  you 
the  wages  of  a  servant  shocked  and  grieved  me 
— inexpressibly.  Your  position  in  this  house- 
hold is  that — er — of — a  relative — an  unfortu- 
48 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

nate  relative,  it  is  true ;  but  still  a  relative.  You 
bear  our  name,  and  as  an  Aubrey-Blythe  you 
ought  to  consider  what  is  due  your — er — posi- 
tion. You  ought,  in  short,  to  fill  your  humble 
niche  in  the  family  life  cheerfully  and  uncom- 
plainingly. Do  you  follow  me?  " 

'  Yes,  Aunt  Agatha,"  said  Jane  stonily. 
"  It  is  little  indeed  that  you  can  do  for  us  in 
return  for  all  the  benefits  which  are  continually 
heaped  upon  you,"  went  on  Lady  Agatha,  with 
an  air  of  Christian  forbearance.  "  It  ought  not 
to  be  necessary  for  me  to  remind  you  of  this, 
Jane.  I  regret  that  it  is  so.  But  I  cannot  permit 
a  discordant  element  to  disturb  the  peace  of  my 
home.  You  are  aware  that  Percy  and  Cecil 
should  be  required  to  conduct  themselves  like 
gentlemen.  You  will  see  to  it  that  the  disgrace- 
ful scene  of  last  night  is  not  repeated.  As  for 
Gwendolen,  any  little  service  that  you  are  re- 
quested to  do  for  her  ought  to  be  gladly  per- 
formed. Do  you  know,  the  poor,  dear  child  was 
quite  overcome  by  your  rudeness;  she  thought 
you  must  be  ill." 

49 


Truthful    Jane 

"  I  shall  never  put  on  Gwendolen's  stockings 
and  shoes  for  her  again,"  remarked  Jane,  with 
disconcerting  finality. 

"  Jane,  you  forget  yourself!  " 

"  No,  aunt;  you  are  mistaken.  I  am  not  for- 
getting myself ;  I  am  remembering  that  I  am  an 
Aubrey-Blythe." 

Lady  Agatha  stared  blankly  at  the  girl  for 
a  full  minute.  Then  she  recovered  herself. 
"  You  are  an  ungrateful,  impertinent  girl !  "  she 
said  slowly.  "If  you  were  younger  I  should  feel 
it  my  duty  to  ferule  you  severely.  There  is  one 
other  thing  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  about;  then 
you  may  go.  I  have  observed  that  you  are  far 
too  familiar  and  presuming  in  your  manner  to- 
ward your  cousin  Reginald.  His  future  position 
in  the  world  as  my  oldest  son  and  his  father's 
heir  does  not  warrant  any  such  attitude  on  your 
part." 

"  Did   Reginald  tell  you   that  he   tried  to 

kiss  me  on  the  stairs  last  night,   and  that  I 

slapped    him    for    it?"    inquired   Jane,    in    a 

businesslike    tone.      "  It    was    *  familiar '    of 

50 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

me,  I  admit;  but  Reginald  is  such  a  cub,  you 
know." 

Lady  Agatha  rose  to  her  full  height.  "  You 
may  go  to  your  room,  Jane,  and  stay  there  for 
the  remainder  of  the  day,"  she  said  in  an  awful 
voice.  "  I  see  that  my  Christian  charity  is  en- 
tirely misplaced  in  your  case.  I  shall,  after  all, 
be  obliged  to  consult  your  uncle  with  regard  to 
some  other  disposal  of  your  person.  I  cannot 
bear  you  about  me  longer.  Your  influence  on 
my  dear  children  is  most  unfortunate !  " 

Jane  turned  sharply — she  already  had  her 
hand  upon  the  door.  "  I  hope  uncle  will  send 
me  away !  "  she  exclaimed  passionately.  "  I 
hate  this  house  and  everyone  in  it — except  Percy 
and  Susan!  " 

Lady  Agatha,  shaken  out  of  her  usual  icy  self- 
control,  darted  forward.  She  was  a  tall,  big 
woman  and  she  swept  the  girl  before  her  in  a 
blast  of  cold  fury  up  the  stairs — two  flights  of 
them — to  the  little  attic  room;  there  she  thrust 
the  slight  figure  within,  and  locked  the  door 
upon  it. 

5' 


Truthful     Jane 

Jane  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  lis- 
tened to  the  ugly  click  of  the  key  and  the  sound 
of  Lady  Agatha's  retreating  boot  heels  on  the 
uncarpeted  corridor. 

"  Well,"  said  Jane  ruefully.  "  I  have  made  a 
mess  of  it!  "  She  had  completely  forgotten  her 
prayer  of  the  night  before. 

Somebody  had  laid  a  fire  in  her  rusty  little 
grate.  It  was  Susan,  of  course,  who  was  con- 
tinually going  out  of  her  way  to  be  kind  to  the 
girl  to  whom  everyone  else  was  so  persistently 
and  pointedly  unkind.  Jane's  sore  heart  warmed 
toward  honest  Susan,  as  she  hunted  for  a  match 
in  the  ugly  little  safe  on  the  mantel.  "I've  a 
day  off,  anyway,"  she  told  herself,  "  and  I'll 
cobble  up  that  old  gown  of  Gwen's  so  that  I 
can  wear  it." 

Miss  Blythe  was  well  used  to  cobbling  up  old 
gowns  and  clever  at  it,  too.  She  waxed  increas- 
ingly cheerful  as  she  spread  the  faded  breadths 
across  her  knee  and  discovered  that  the  wrong 
side  of  the  fabric  was  fresh  and  bright.  Later 
she  congratulated  herself  upon  a  stray  sheet  of 
52 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

The  Times,  left  behind  by  Susan  after  laying 
the  fire ;  it  would  do  admirably  for  pattern  ma- 
terial. As  she  spread  its  crumpled  folds  upon 
her  counterpane,  preparatory  to  evolving  a  won- 
derful yoke  design,  her  eye  fell  upon  a  line  in 
the  column  of  "  Female  Help  Wanted."  It  read 
as  follows: 

"A  lady  about  to  travel  in  America  wishes  to  engage  in- 
telligent young  female  as  companion.  Good  wages.  Duties 
nominal.  Apply  mornings  to  Mrs.  Augustus  Markle,  10 
Belgravia  Crescent." 


"  Oh !  "  murmured  Jane  Blythe.  She  sank 
down  on  the  edge  of  her  hard  little  bed  and  read 
the  fateful  lines  again.  "  A  lady  about  to  travel 
in  America — an  intelligent  young  female  as 
traveling  companion.  Why,  /  am  an  intelligent 
young  female !  "  exclaimed  Jane,  with  the  air 
of  a  discoverer;  "  I  wonder  if  I  look  the  part?  " 

She  stared  at  her  young  reflection  in  the  dim 
mirror  over  her  little  dressing  table.  "  I  be- 
lieve I  look  sufficiently  '  intelligent  *  to  perform 
'  nominal  duties  '  as  a  companion,"  she  told  her- 
self candidly.  Then  she  hunted  for  the  date  of 

53 


Truthful     Jane 

the  paper,  and  was  ready  to  shed  tears  of  dis- 
appointment when  she  discovered  that  it  was  that 
of  the  previous  day. 

"  There  are  so  many  intelligent  young  fe- 
males, and  I  suppose  everyone  of  them  would 
like  to  travel  in  America,"  said  Jane,  still  eying 
the  brown-eyed  young  person  in  the  glass.  "  Be- 
sides, I'm  locked  in." 

The  brown  eyes  twinkled  as  they  turned 
toward  the  one  window  of  the  attic  room.  More 
than  once,  when  she  was  a  small  girl,  Jane  had 
escaped  from  durance  vile  by  way  of  the  pro- 
jecting gutter  just  outside  her  window.  It  was 
a  perilous  feat;  but  Jane  was  muscular  and  agile 
as  a  boy,  and  of  a  certain  defiant  courage  withal, 
born  perhaps  of  her  unhappy  lot  in  life. 

"  It  would  vex  Aunt  Agatha  frightfully  if  I 
should  fall  and  get  killed  on  the  conservatory 
roof,"  murmured  Jane,  as  she  pinned  up  her 
long  skirts  securely,  "  and  it  would  cost  Uncle 
Robert  a  whole  lot  in  broken  glass  and  potted 
plants  and  things;  but  I  don't  care!  " 

In  another  minute  she  had  crawled  out  of  her 
54 


Truthful     Jane 

little  window  and  commenced  her  dangerous 
journey  to  a  neighboring  window,  which,  luckily 
for  the  bold  adventuress,  stood  wide  open. 
Twice  the  girl's  cautious  feet  slipped  unstead- 
ily on  a  bit  of  ice,  and  once  the  gutter  itself 
cracked  ominously  under  her  weight ;  but  at  last 
she  gained  the  window,  climbed  in,  and  sank 
white  and  shaken  to  the  floor. 

"  Jane  Blythe,  you  must  be  losing  your  nerve," 
she  told  herself  sternly,  when  she  had  gathered 
sufficient  strength  to  stumble  dizzily  to  her  feet; 
"  the  last  time  you  tried  that  you  didn't  turn  a 
hair!" 

The  rest  was  easy,  and  in  less  than  an  hour's 
time  Miss  Blythe  found  herself  ringing  the  bell 
at  10  Belgravia  Crescent.  The  slatternly  maid, 
distinguished  by  the  traditional  smudge  over 
one  eye,  informed  her  that  Mrs.  Markle  was 
within,  and  in  the  same  breath  that  she  was 
"  clean  wore  out  with  interviewin'  young  fe- 
males." 

Jane's  heart  sank;  nevertheless  she  bestowed 
a  sixpence  upon  the  dingy  maid  with  an  air  of 

55 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

regal  unconcern,  and  was  straightway  ushered 
into  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Augustus  Markle, 
with  a  flourish  of  the  dingy  one's  plaided  pina- 
fore and  the  brief  announcement :  "  'Ere's 
another  of  'em,  ma'am !  " 

The  stout  lady,  solidly  enthroned  upon  a  sofa 
before  the  dispirited  fire,  did  not  turn  her  elab- 
orately coiffured  head. 

"  Ze  young  woman  may  come  in,"  intoned  a 
full,  rich,  foreign-sounding  voice  which  some- 
what prepared  Jane  for  the  large,  dark,  highly 
colored  visage,  flanked  with  dubious  diamond 
eardrops,  which  Mrs.  Markle  turned  upon  her 
visitor. 

"  You  wis'  to  inquire  about  ze  situation — 
eh?  "  pursued  this  individual,  without  any  token 
of  impatience.  "  I  haf  already  seen  feefty  of 
ze  London  demoiselles  ce  matin!1 

"  Oh,  if  you  have  already  engaged  some  one, 
I  will  not  trouble  you !  "  stammered  Jane,  edg- 
ing toward  the  door. 

"Not  so  fast — not  so  fast,  madmoiselle;  it 
iss  true  I  haf  already  engage;  but —  Ah,  zis  iss 
56 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

bettaire!      More  chic — oui.     Your  name,   s'il 
vous  plait  J  " 

"  Jane  Evelyn  Aubrey-Blythe,"  murmured  the 
girl. 

"  An'  you  wis'  to  go  to  ze  ozzer  side — to 
America — oui?  " 

"  I  wish  to  leave  London;  yes." 

;<  To-morrow  evenin',  zen,  I  go  by  ze  train. 
Zen  I  sail  on  ze  so  gra-a-nd  ship.  You  go  wiz 
me—eh?" 

Jane  stared  at  the  woman  with  some  astonish- 
ment. "  What  would  be  my — my  duties?  "  she 
asked. 

"Your  duties?  Why,  to  go  wiz  me — my 
compagnon  de  voyage — comprenez?  Nossing 
else,  I  assure  you ;  I  wait  on  myself.  But  I  am 
— what  you  call  it — lone-some — see  ?  An'  I  re- 
quire a  nize,  young  lady  to  go  wiz  me." 

Mrs.  Markle  smiled  affably,  revealing  a 
double  row  of  glistening  white  teeth.  She 
looked  very  kind  and  good-natured,  and  Jane 
drew  a  quick  breath. 

"  I  will  go,"  she  said  decidedly. 
57 


Truthful    Jane 

The  final  arrangements  were  quickly  con- 
cluded, and  Jane  presently  found  herself  walk- 
ing down  the  street,  her  cheeks  flushed,  her 
brown  eyes  blazing  with  excitement. 

"  I  am  going  to  America  to-morrow — to- 
morrow !  "  she  told  herself.  "  I  shall  travel !  I 
shall  see  the  world !  I  shall  never — never  come 
back!" 

The  girl  was  so  absorbed  in  her  thoughts, 
which  had  for  the  moment  flown  quite  across 
seas  to  the  America  of  her  imaginings,  that  she 
failed  to  see  the  tall,  square-shouldered  person 
who  had  turned  the  corner  and  was  approach- 
ing her  at  a  leisurely  pace.  She  became  aware 
of  his  presence  when  he  spoke,  and  flushed  an 
indignant  scarlet  as  Lady  Agatha's  insinuating 
words  recurred  to  her  mind.  "  Yes,"  she  re- 
turned vague  answer  to  his  greetings,  "  it  is  very 
pleasant  to-day." 

"  But  you,"  said  Mr.  Towle,  smiling  down 

at  the  little  figure,  "  seem  to  be  in  great  haste 

about  something.    You  are  quite  out  of  breath. 

Suppose  we  go  into  this  little  park  and  sit  down 

58 


Truthful     Jane 

quietly  and  rest  a  bit.    Your  face  is  uncomfort- 
ably flushed." 

"  I  can't  help  my  color,"  murmured  Jane  con- 
fusedly; "it  isn't  because  I  was  walking  fast, 
but  only " 

"  Is  it  because  you  are  vexed  at  seeing  me?  " 
Mr.  Towle  wanted  to  know.  "  We  agreed  to 
be  friends  last  night,  remember." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Jane,  glancing  up  at  him 
quickly.  He  looked  much  younger  in  his  hat, 
she  reflected,  and  he  really  had  very  nice  eyes. 
"  But  I  am  going  out  of  town  directly,"  she  made 
haste  to  add,  "  so  we  shall  not  see  each  other 
again — at  least  not  for  a  long  time." 

"You  are  going  away?"  said  Mr.  Towle 
blankly.  "  Where  —  if  I  may  ask  without 
seeming  impertinent?" 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,"  replied  Jane,  with  a 
provoking  smile.  "  I  am  going  to  travel." 
Then  she  bit  her  tongue  till  it  hurt.  "  Really, 
now  you  will  see  why  I  must  hurry  home  at  once. 
And — and,  please  don't  mention  what  I  have 
said  to — to  Aunt  Agatha  or  Uncle  Robert." 
59 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

Mr.  Towle  regarded  her  in  puzzled  silence. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  stiffly.  "  You 
were  referring  to  what  passed  between  us  last 
night?  I  have  already  told  your — ah — guard- 
ians the  result  of  my  proposals,  and  they " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that ! "  cried  Jane. 
"  How  could  you  think  so  ?  I  meant —  Oh, 
won't  you  go  away  and  not  talk  to  me  any  more 
about  it!  You  oughtn't  to  have  liked  me  any- 
way. Aunt  Agatha  said  so.  She  told  me  this 
morning  that  I  was  not  at  all  attractive,  and  I 
am  poor,  too — perhaps  you  didn't  know  that — 
and — and — I  am  not  at  all  clever;  you  can't  help 
seeing  that  for  yourself.  I  hope  you  will  forget 
that  you  ever  saw  me  those  three  times  at  Uncle 
Robert's." 

"  One  time  would  have  been  enough  for  me," 
said  Mr.  Towle  earnestly;  "  but  as  a  matter  of 
fact  I  have  seen  you  more  than  three  times.  I 
never  counted  the  occasions,  but  I  saw  you  as 
often  as  possible,  as  for  example  when  you  went 
out  with  the  two  little  boys  in  the  governess 
cart,  and  when  you  walked  with  them  in  the 
60 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

Park,  and  twice  in  the  Museum.  Do  you  re- 
member the  day  you  showed  them  the  mummies  ? 
You  were  telling  them  a  long  story  about  a  little 
Egyptian  princess;  then  you  showed  them  the 
toys  found  in  her  tomb,  and  the  mummy  itself 
wrapped  in  browned  linen,  a  withered  lotus 
flower  stuck  in  the  bandages." 

Jane  stared  at  him  meditatively.  "  I  didn't 
see  you  anywhere  about,"  she  said. 

"  No;  I  took  good  care  that  you  should  not," 
Mr.  Towle  observed.  "  Now  I  am  sorry  for  it." 

"Why?"  asked  Jane;  then  bit  her  tongue 
again  in  her  confusion.  "I  —  I  mean  it 
would  have  been  very — nice.  I  should  have 
said  I » 

"  I  was  a  bally  idiot,"  pursued  Mr.  Towle 
steadily,  "  not  to  have  taken  the  pains  to  become 
acquainted  with  you  in  any  way,  however  uncon- 
ventional. If  I  had,  perhaps  you  would  not  have 
disliked  me  so." 

"  Oh,  but  I  do  not  dislike  you  in  the  least  I  " 
protested  Jane. 

"  If  you  could  like  me  a  very  little,"  he  said 
5  61 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

eagerly,  "  perhaps  in  time  you  could —  Jane,  if 
you  are  fond  of  travel  I  would  take  you  all 
over  the  world.  You  should  see  everything.  I 
thought  I  was  done  with  happiness  till  I  saw  you. 
I  had  nothing  to  look  forward  to.  I  had  seen 
everything,  tested  everything,  and  found  every- 
thing empty  and  hateful,  but  with  you  at  my  side 
— Won't  you  try  to  like  me,  Jane?  " 

What  Jane  would  have  replied,  had  she  not 
glanced  up  on  the  instant,  she  never  afterwards 
felt  entirely  sure.  But  glance  up  she  did  to  meet 
Gwendolen's  scornful  eyes  fixed  full  upon  her  as 
she  whirled  past  them  in  the  Aubrey-Blythe  vic- 
toria, with  a  great  show  of  Aubrey-Blythe  liv- 
eries on  the  box. 

Instantly  the  forlorn  little  shoot  of  gratitude 
which  was  trying  its  feeble  best  to  masquerade 
as  sentiment  in  Jane's  lonely  heart  withered  and 
died  under  the  icy  blast  of  impotent  anger  and 
fear  which  passed  over  her.  "  She  will  tell  Aunt 
Agatha,"  thought  poor  Jane,  "  and  Aunt  Agatha 
will  think  I  have  lied  to  her  about  seeing  Mr. 
Towle  on  the  street." 

62 


Truthful     Jane 

By  some  untoward  psychological  process,  quite 
unperceived  by  herself,  the  full  torrent  of  Miss 
Blythe's  wrath  was  instantly  turned  upon  the 
man  at  her  side. 

"  I  think  I  must  say  good  morning,  Mr. 
Towle,"  she  said  coldly.  "  I  am  really  very 
much  occupied  to-day.  I  am  sure  I  thank  you 
for  thinking  of  me  so  kindly — "  She  stopped 
determinedly  and  held  out  her  hand. 

And  the  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle,  feeling 
himself  to  be  dismissed  in  all  the  harrowing 
length  and  breadth  of  the  word,  took  his  leave 
of  her  instantly,  with  a  courteous  lifting  of  his 
hat  which  afforded  Jane  a  parting  glimpse  of 
his  prematurely  bald  head. 

"  It  must  be  dreadful  to  be  bald,"  reflected 
Jane,  with  vague  contrition,  as  she  walked  away ; 
"  but  I  can't  help  it."  The  correlation  of  these 
two  ideas  being  more  intimate  and  profound  than 
appears  in  a  cursory  reading  of  them. 

The  door  of  Lady  Agatha's  morning  room 
stood  open  as  Jane  attempted  to  slip  past  it  like 
a  guilty  shadow.  Gwendolen,  still  attired  in  her 
63 


Truthful     Jane 

hat  and  jacket,  evidently  saw  her  and  apprised 
her  mother  of  the  fact,  for  Lady  Agatha's  pur- 
suing voice  arrested  the  girl  in  full  flight  toward 
her  own  room. 

"  You  will,  perhaps,  be  good  enough  to  in- 
form me,  Jane,  how  you  came  to  be  on  the  street 
after  I  had  locked  you  into  your  own  room  for 
the  day,"  intoned  Lady  Agatha,  in  a  terrible 
voice.  "  Deceitful,  ungrateful,  vulgar  girl,  that 
you  arel " 

"  I  saw  you,  sly-boots ;  so  you  needn't  deny 
it,"  put  in  Gwendolen,  with  a  spiteful  laugh. 
"  It  was  passing  strange  how  our  demure  Jane 
chanced  to  have  a  proposal,  was  it  not?  Do  you 
know,  mamma,  Ethel  Brantwood  told  me  this 
morning  that  that  man  had  been  seen  tagging 
Jane  all  over  London.  It  is  quite  the  common 
talk." 

"Oh!"  cried  Jane,  wringing  her  hands. 
"What5A«/JIdD?" 

"  Do  not  attempt  to  hoodwink  me  longer,  un- 
happy girl,"  pursued  Lady  Agatha.  "  Your  de- 
ceit, ingratitude,  and  vulgar  intrigues  are  all  laid 


Truthful    Jane 

bare.  I  have  not  decided  what  I  shall  do  with 
you.  It  appears  " — dramatically —  "  that  locks 
and  bars  are  no  barriers  to  you.  My  commands 
you  defy,  my  counsels  you  ignore,  my  affections 
you  trample  under  footl  " 

"  Stop,  Aunt  Agatha !  "  cried  Jane.  "  I  did 
climb  out  of  the  window  after  you  had  locked 
me  in — I  wish  now  that  I  had  fallen  on  the  con- 
servatory roof  and  killed  myself;  you  wouldn't 
have  minded  anything  but  the  broken  glass — but 
you  must  believe  that  I  never  saw  Mr.  Towle  on 
the  street  before.  He  has  followed  me  about; 
he  told  me  so  this  morning.  But  he  never  spoke 
to  me  once,  and  I  did  not  know  it.  I  never  have 
thought  of  seeing  him." 

"  How  extremely  ingenuous  and  naive !  "  put 
in  Gwendolen,  with  an  ugly  titter;  "  quite  after 
the  pattern  of  a  cheap  variety  actress,  indeed !  I 
wonder,  mamma,  that  Mr.  Towle  took  the  pains 
to  propose  marriage  to  Jane  in  the  dull,  old-fash- 
ioned way.  He  might  as  well  have  eloped  with- 
out ceremony." 

Jane  stared  at  her  cousin,  her  face  slowly 
65 


Truthful    Jane 

whitening.  "  Do  you  realize  what  you  have  said 
to  me,  Gwendolen?  "  she  asked  in  a  stifled  voice. 
'*  Yes.  I  see  that  you  do.  If  you  were  a  man  I 
should — kill  you.  But  you  are  only  you,  so  I 
shall  content  myself  by  never  speaking  to  you 
again." 

"  Gwendolen,  my  love,  will  you  kindly  leave 
us  for  a  few  minutes,"  said  Lady  Agatha,  very 
calm  and  stately.  "  I  cannot  permit  your  young 
ears  to  be  sullied  by  this  mad  talk.  Really,  I 
fear  that  the  unfortunate  girl's  reason  has 
been — "  She  paused  significantly  and  touched 
her  forehead.  "  I  am  told  there  has  always  been 
a  marked  weakness  in  her  mother's  family.  Go, 
my  love,  go !  " 

"  I  shall  go,  too,"  said  Jane  bitterly.  "  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say  to  you,  Aunt  Agatha.  I 
have  told  you  the  exact  truth,  and  you  may 
believe  it  or  not  as  you  like."  She  turned  and 
followed  Gwendolen  out  of  the  room. 

That  young  lady,  hearing  the  step  behind  her, 
fled  with  a  hysterical  shriek  to  the  shelter  of  her 
mother's  room.  "  What  do  you  think,  mamma, 
66 


Truthful     Jane 

the  creature  was  actually  pursuing  me !  "  Jane 
heard  her  say. 

Then  Jane  went  slowly  up  the  stairs  to  her 
own  room,  where  she  remained  quite  alone  and 
undisturbed  for  the  remainder  of  the  day.  At 
intervals,  during  the  course  of  the  dreary  after- 
noon, she  could  hear  faint  sounds  of  opening 
and  shutting  doors  below  stairs.  Once  Percy's 
loud  voice  and  the  clatter  of  his  stout  little  shoes 
appeared  to  be  approaching  her  room;  then 
some  one  called  him  in  a  subdued  voice;  there 
was  a  short  altercation  carried  on  at  a  gradually 
increasing  distance;  then  silence  again. 

A  horrible  sense  of  disgrace  and  isolation 
gradually  descended  upon  the  girl.  She  sobbed 
wildly  as  she  looked  over  her  few  cherished  pos- 
sessions preparatory  to  packing  them  in  the  box 
she  dragged  in  from  the  attic;  her  mother's 
watch,  a  locket  containing  her  father's  picture, 
a  ring  or  two,  her  shabby  little  gowns  and 
meager  toilet  things.  By  the  time  she  had  locked 
and  strapped  the  box  with  shaking  fingers  she 
was  shivering  with  cold  and  faint  with  hunger. 
6? 


Truthful    Jane 

The  latter  primal  urge  finally  drove  her  forth 
and  down  the  rear  stairways  to  the  kitchen, 
where  she  found  the  servants  in  full  tide  of  prep- 
aration for  dinner. 

"  Lud  ha'  mussy,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn !  "  cried 
Susan.  "  Where  'ave  you  be'n  to  look  that  white 
an'  done  hup?" 

"  In  my  room,"  said  Jane  shortly.  "  Will 
you  give  me  some  tea  and  bread,  Susan?  I'll 
take  it  up  myself.  No ;  please  don't  follow  me. 
I  wish  to  be  alone." 

"  Somethink's  hup  wi'  'er,"  observed  cook 
sagaciously,  as  Jane  disappeared  with  a 
brace  of  thick  sandwiches  cut  by  the  zealous 
Susan. 

"They'd  orto  be  'shamed  o'  theirsels;  that 
they  'ad,  a-puttin'  upon  a  sweet  young  lady  like 
Miss  Jane  Evelyn,"  opined  Susan.  "  I'd  like 
to  give  'em  all  a  piece  o'  my  mind;  it  'ud  do 
me  good.  It  would  so  I  " 

"  You're  a  goose,  Susan,"  laughed  cook. 
"  An'  so  is  she,  if  all  I  'ear  is  c'rrect.  Tummas 
says  as  'ow  that  military-appearin'  gent  wot 
68 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

comes  'ere  is  crazy  to  marry  'er.    An  'e's  rich's 
cream!  " 

"  Oh,  lud !  "  sniffed  Susan,  her  nose  in  the 
air,  "  'e  may  be  rich,  but  'e's  bald  as  a  happle ! 
She'd  never  'ave  'im;  I'll  bet  me  hown  'air  an' 
me  combin's  to  boot." 


CHAPTER    V 

WHEN  Jane  awoke  the  next  morning  she 
stared  for  a  moment  at  the  brownish  spot  in  the 
ceiling  just  over  her  bed,  as  she  had  done  every 
morning  during  a  series  of  London  seasons.  It 
was  a  sprawling  indefinite  stain,  caused  no  doubt 
by  some  leak  long  since  stopped  in  the  roof  over- 
head, but  it  possessed  in  Jane's  eyes  the  weird 
peculiarity  of  assuming  various  pictorial  shapes 
which  matched  the  girl's  own  passing  experi- 
ences. Once  she  remembered  seeing  in  it  a 
train  of  gypsy  wagons,  with  a  peculiarly  alluring 
and  picturesque  gypsy  plodding  on  before — this 
in  the  days  when  she  longed  to  run  away,  yet 
did  not  quite  dare  for  fear  of  being  caught  and 
brought  back  ignominiously  to  taste  the  sharp 
sting  of  the  ferrule,  which  lay  darkly  in  wait 
for  evil  doers  in  the  upper  left-hand  drawer  of 
Lady  Agatha's  private  desk. 

Of  late  years  the  stain  had  assumed  the  ap- 
70 


Truthful     Jane 

pearance  of  a  mountain  valley,  with  a  lofty 
castle  perched  high  amid  inaccessible  cliffs. 
There  was  a  long  series  of  romances  connected 
with  this  imaginary  abode,  in  every  one  of  which 
Jane  herself,  in  a  robe  of  white  samite,  bound 
about  the  waist  with  a  girdle  of  red  gold,  fig- 
ured as  heroine.  Sometimes  a  hostile  army, 
their  spears  ajid  pennants  showing  dimly  through 
the  trees,  would  defile  stealthily  through  the 
dark  passes,  to  intrench  themselves  before  the 
castle  moat,  where  Jane  would  parley  with  them, 
intrepid  and  unblenching  in  a  glistening  coat  of 
chain  armor  fitting  her  lithe  figure  like  a  serpent's 
skin.  Again,  a  solitary  knight  with  closed  visor 
overshadowed  by  ebon  plumes  could  be  seen  pull- 
ing in  his  foaming  charger  below  the  embattled 
terraces  awaiting  a  glimpse  of  the  white  figure 
above. 

On  this  particular  morning  beetling  cliffs, 
castle  and  all  had  vanished  and  Jane,  rubbing 
the  dreams  from  her  eyes,  beheld  a  wide  expanse 
of  tumbling  ocean,  with  a  sky  piled  high  with 
flying  clouds,  and  in  the  foreground,  ploughing 
71 


Truthful     Jane 

its  way  through  the  foam,  a  stately  ship.  Jane 
stared  unwinkingly  at  the  vision  for  a  long  min- 
ute, then  her  eyes  descended  in  startled  haste  to 
the  floor,  where  rested  the  locked  and  strapped 
box,  with  O.  A.  B.  in  white  letters  on  its  end. 
Jane  sat  up  in  the  bed  with  a  queer  choking  in 
her  slender  throat.  If  Oliver  Aubrey-Blythe 
were  alive,  his  one  daughter  would  not  be  driven 
forth  friendless  into  the  wide  world  to  make  her 
difficult  way. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  refreshed  by  her  bath 
and  dressed  in  the  gown  she  had  chosen  for  her 
travels,  Jane  was  quite  her  cheerful  self  again. 
She  was  also  unromantically  hungry,  and  after 
a  brief  period  of  indecision  descended  boldly  to 
the  breakfast  room,  where  she  was  tolerably 
certain  of  finding  none  of  the  female  members  of 
the  household. 

Mr.  Robert  Aubrey-Blythe  was  apparently 
just  about  finishing  his  repast  and  his  newspaper. 
He  looked  up  as  his  niece  entered  the  room. 
"  Good  morning,  Jane,"  he  said  fussily.  "  You 
are  late." 

72 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Robert,"  very  meekly,  "  I  over- 
slept this  morning." 

"  I — er — in  short,  Jane,  I  saw  Towle  again 
yesterday,  at  the  Club,"  pursued  Mr.  Aubrey- 
Blythe,  thoughtfully  gazing  at  the  girl  through 
his  double  eyeglasses.  "  The  man  is — er — quite 
daft  about  you,  Jane.  I  own  I  was  astonished. 
Ha-ha !  very  amusing,  I'm  sure." 

"  I'll  never  speak  to  Mr.  Towle  again — 
never  I  "  cried  Jane,  her  cheeks  flaming.  "  The 
idea  of  his  daring " 

"Tut — tut,  girl;  don't  be  a  fool!"  advised 
Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe  testily.  "  What  Towle  said 
was — er — quite  correct,  quite  as  it  should  be,  in 
case — you — er — .  By  the  by,  Jane,  why  can't 
you  hit  it  off  better  with  Lady  Agatha  and  Gwen- 
dolen ?  I'm  infernally  bored  with  having  to  hear 
about  your  interminable  squabbles ;  I  am,  indeed. 
And  it's  beastly  bad  taste  in  you,  Jane,  to  be 
always  getting  up  scenes.  You  ought  to  know 
that." 

"  There'll  be  no  further  scenes  between 
Gwendolen  and  myself,"  said  Jane,  very 
73 


Truthful    Jane 

calm  and  dignified.     "  I  can  promise  you  that, 
sir." 

;<  Well  now,  upon  my  word,  that  sounds  some- 
thing like,"  said  Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe,  pushing 
back  his  chair.  "  I  trust  you'll  keep  that 
in  mind  hereafter.  We — er — shall  endeavor 
to  do  our  duty  by  you,  Jane;  and  you,  on  your 
part " 

The  girl's  sudden  and  unexpected  response  to 
this  well-meant  attempt  at  reconciliation  shocked 
and  astonished  her  worthy  relative  beyond  meas- 
ure. She  arose  from  her  chair  and  put  her  two 
young  arms  about  his  neck  with  something  very 
like  a  sob.  "  I  do  thank  you,  Uncle  Robert,  for 
all  you've  done  for  me,"  she  said.  "  I've  not 
meant  to  be  disagreeable  or  ungrateful  since  I've 
lived  in  your  house;  indeed  I've  not.  But  I — 
couldn't  help  it,  and  I'm  sorry  for — every- 
thing! " 

"  Come — come — er — I  say  I  "  spluttered  Mr. 
Aubrey-Blythe.     "  You  mustn't,  you  know,  or  I 
shall  have  to  call  Lady  Agatha.     I  dare  say 
you'll  go  on  quite  as  you  should  after  this." 
74 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  Good-by,  uncle,"  said  Jane,  smiling  and 
winking  fast  to  keep  the  tears  from  falling  off 
her  thick  lashes.  "  I'm  glad  I  said  it.  You'll 
not  forget." 

Then  she  sat  down  with  a  very  good  appetite 
to  the  fresh  coffee  and  eggs  and  bacon  which 
were  set  before  her.  One  must  eat  to  live,  how- 
ever young  and  beautiful  one  may  be,  and  what- 
ever the  base  and  undeserved  cruelty  of  one's  re- 
lations. She  had  not  finished  when  Percy  and 
Cecil  clattered  into  the  breakfast  room,  with 
every  evidence  of  having  carried  on  a  spirited 
skirmish  on  the  way  downstairs. 

"Hello,  Jane,  you  here?"  growled  Cecil, 
drawing  a  long  face.  "  We're  to  have  no  les- 
sons to-day,  mind !  " 

;<  Who  said  so?  "  inquired  Miss  Blythe  tran- 
quilly. 

"  Mamma  said  so.  She  said  you  were  going 
to  be  sent  away  directly,  and  we're  to  go  away 
to  school.  Hooray !  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  school,"  whined  Percy 
dismally.  "  I  want  Jane." 

75 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Shut  up,  baby;  you  don't  know  what  you're 
talkin'  about.  I  don't  want  Jane,  an'  I'm  glad 
the  mater's  goin'  to  ship  her;  so  there!  Here, 
you,  Calkins,  fetch  us  some  hot  muffins;  these 
ain't  fit  to  eat.  And,  I  say,  hustle  some  marma- 
lade while  you're  about  it !  " 

Miss  Blythe  arose  from  her  place.  "If  you 
can't  ask  civilly  for  your  food,  Cecil,  you  don't 
deserve  to  have  anything  fetched,"  she  said  re- 
bukingly. 

"  Cecil's  a  cad,  anyhow,"  muttered  Percy, 
staring  truculently  at  his  brother  from  under  his 
light  lashes. 

"  Aw !  an'  you're  a  bally  baby !  "  retorted 
Master  Cecil,  stuffing  half  a  muffin  into  his 
cheek.  "  My,  won't  you  catch  it  in  school, 
though!" 

"  See  here,  boys,"  said  Jane  seriously,  "  very 
likely  I'll  not  see  you  again,  for  I  am  going 
away " 

"  You're  to  be  sent,  you  mean,"  interrupted 
Cecil  impudently. 

"  Be  quiet,  sir,  and  pay  attention  to  what  I 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

have  to  say;  it's  the  last  time  I  shall  take  the 
trouble.  You,  Percy,  have  the  instincts  of  a 
gentleman.  If  you'll  go  on  telling  the  truth 
every  trip,  no  matter  what  bully  threatens  you, 
and  if  you'll  stand  for  what's  decent  and  right 
you'll  have  nothing  to  fear,  in  school  or  any- 
where else.  As  for  you,  Cecil,  you've  a  lot  to 
learn,  and  I  heartily  hope  the  big  boys  will 
thrash  your  meanness  and  cowardliness  out  of 
you  before  you're  entirely  spoiled,  and  I  dare 
say  they  will.  Good-by." 

She  stooped  to  kiss  Percy  warmly,  and  that 
small  boy  blubbered  outright  as  he  rubbed  his 
smeary  little  face  against  the  girl's  smooth  cheek. 
To  Cecil  she  offered  her  hand,  but  withdrew  it 
with  a  smile,  as  the  grateful  recipient  of  her 
counsels  thrust  his  tongue  into  his  cheek  with  a 
frightful  grimace.  "  Good-by,  boys,"  she  re- 
peated. "  You'll  find  what  I've  told  you  is  true 
before  you've  done." 

It  was  a  long,  lonely  day,  passed  in  a  dreary 
attempt  to  hasten  the  lagging  hours  with  one  of 
Susan's  "  shilling  shockers,"  which  that  worthy 
6  77 


Truthful    Jane 

damsel  had  pressed  upon  her  adored  young  lady's 
attention  as  being  "  perfec'ly  el'gant  an'  that 
thrillin'  it  ud  raise  yer  'air  to  read  it."  Jane 
found  "  The  Duke's  Revenge,  or  the  Secret 
of  the  Hidden  Staircase  "  insufficient  to  keep 
her  wandering  attention  from  the  water  stain  on 
the  ceiling,  which  by  this  time  had  assumed  the 
appearance  of  a  coach  and  pair  careering  at  full 
gallop  on  the  verge  of  a  precipice.  She  passed 
the  morning  in  momently  dreading  a  summons 
from  Lady  Agatha,  but  none  came,  and  after 
luncheon  (which  Jane  decided  to  omit)  peeping 
from  her  lofty  window  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
that  stately  matron  and  her  daughter  magnifi- 
cently attired  sailing  forth  to  their  carriage. 
Later  in  the  day  she  beheld  the  Hon.  Wipplinger 
Towle,  immaculately  groomed  and  wearing  a 
gardenia  in  his  buttonhole,  advancing  up  the 
street. 

Ten  minutes  later  Susan  tapped  at  the  door, 
the  proud  bearer  of  a  slim  white  card  on  a 
diminutive  salver.      "  I   told  Jeems   as  'ow   I 
thought  I'd  find  you  'ere,  miss,"  she  said. 
78 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  You  may  say  that  I'm  not  at  home,  if  you 
please,  Susan,"  said  Jane. 

But  Susan  stood  still  in  her  tracks.  "  'Is  'air 
ain't  much  to  brag  of,  I  know,  miss,"  she  ven- 
tured at  length ;  "  an'  'e  can't  be  called  'an'some 
in  other  pertic'lers,  but  I  ain't  sure  as  I  wouldn't 
tak'  up  wi'  'im,  seem'  there  ain't  no  lord  nor 
dook  'andy.  'E's  a  gent'man,  'that  'e  is;  'an 
you'd  be  a-ridin'  in  a  kerridge  o'  yer  own  wi' 
nobody  to  worrit  you,  an'  me  lidy's  maid 
a-waitin'  on  you  constant,  instead  of  occasional 
like,  as  I'm  forced  now  along  wi'  my  reg'lar 
dooties." 

Jane  laughed  outright.  "  You're  a  good  soul, 
Susan,"  she  said;  "but  your  advice  isn't  exactly 
to  my  taste.  Go  down  at  once  and  do  as  I've 
told  you.  Later  I've  something  to  say  to  you; 
and  I  shall  want  your  help,  too." 

By  this  Susan's  eyes  had  lighted  upon  Jane's 
modest  box,  which  stood  locked  and  strapped  for 
its  long  journey  at  the  foot  of  Jane's  little  bed. 
"  Oh,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn,"  she  blubbered,  "  you 
ain't  a-goin'  away  1  " 

79 


Truthful    Jane 

"  I  must,"  said  Jane.  "  I  can't  stay  here  any 
longer.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  when  you  come  up 
again.  You  must  go  down  directly  now  and  tell 
James  to  excuse  me  to  Mr.  Towle." 

But  James  was  engaged  in  parleying  with 
another  visitor  when  Susan  arrived  at  the  level 
of  the  reception  room,  and  after  an  instant's 
reflection  she  smoothed  down  her  immaculate 
apron,  touched  up  the  frills  of  her  cap,  and 
boldly  presented  herself  before  the  Hon.  Wip- 
plinger  Towle,  who  was  waiting  with  his  wonted 
middle-aged  patience. 

"  Miss  Jane  Evelyn's  be'n  took  bad  wi'  a 
wi'lent  'eadache,  sir,  an'  will  you  kindly  excuse 
'er,  sir."     And  Susan   bobbed  her  very   best- 
courtesy. 

Mr.  Towle  stood  up  and  fixed  his  glass  in  his 
eye.  "  Hum — ah  1  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it. 
You  will — er — tell  Miss  Aubrey-Blythe  so,  with 
my  compliments,  my  good  girl." 

"Yes,  sir;  I  will,  sir;  an'  thank  you  kindly, 
sir,"   said  Susan,   slipping  something  into  her 
apron  pocket,  with  a  broad  grin. 
80 


Truthful    Jane 

Mr.  Towle  appeared  to  be  gazing  rebukingly 
at  the  frills  on  Susan's  cap ;  but  that  astute  dam- 
sel knew  better  than  to  withdraw  too  hastily. 
Presently  he  spoke  again.  "  You  are — ah — 
Susan ;  are  you  not  ?  " 

'  Yes,  sir;  thank  you,  sir.  I  ain't  nobody 
else  but  Susan,  sir,"  beamed  the  girl  encourag- 
ingly. "An'  I'm  that  fond  of  Miss  Jane  Evelyn, 
if  you'll  believe  it,  sir,  'as  I'd  lay  down  willin' 
i'  the  mud  an'  let  her  walk  over  me,  that  I  would, 
sir!" 

"  Hum — ah !  "  murmured  the  Hon.  Mr. 
Towle,  "  that  is  very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure, 
Susan;  most  praiseworthy,  in  short.  Do  you — 
er — attend  Miss  Blythe  when  she — er — travels  ? 
She  is  going  out  of  town,  I  believe." 

"  I  don't  know  no  mor'n  nothink  what  Miss 
Jane  Evelyn's  a-goin'  to  do,  sir.  I'd  give  me 
heyes  to  go  wi'  'er;  that  I  would;  but  I'll  not  be 
let,  sir." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  where  she  is  going?  " 

"  No,  sir;  not  yet,  sir;  but  she'll  tell  me,  sure, 
afore  ever  she  goes.  I  'ate  to  say  it  as  I 


Truthful    Jane 

shouldn't,  but  Miss  Jane  Evelyn  'arsn't  many 
friends  in  this  'ere  'ouse  but  me  an'  cook  an' 
may'ap  Master  Percy,  'im  bein'  the  youngest  of 
hall.  I  'ear  below  stairs  as  'ow  she's  to  be  sent 
off  somewheres  directly,  sir,  an'  the  young  lads 
'11  go  to  school  hafter  she's  gone  wot  teached 
'em  faithful  since  the  las'  gov'ness  went  away." 

"  Hum — ah,"  mused  Mr.  Towle,  scowling 
fiercely.  "  I  say,"  he  added  abruptly,  "  this 
doesn't  seem  a  very  civil  thing  for  me  to  do; 
but  it's  important  I  should  know  where  Miss — 
er — your  young  mistress  goes.  I  might  be  able 
to  be  of  service  to  her,  you  know." 

'  Yes,  sir;  I  gets  your  meanin'  quite,  sir,"  pur- 
sued the  ecstatic  Susan,  feeling  herself  to  be 
nothing  less  than  confidential  lady  in  a  real,  live 
novel  of  absorbing  interest.  "  I'll  let  you 
know,  sir,  as  soon  as  ever  I  finds  out,  an'  find  out 
I  will,  sir;  you  may  depend  upon  it,  sir." 

"  Thank  you,  Susan,  my  good  girl ;  do  so  by 
all  means,"  said  Mr.  Towle;  then  a  second  some- 
thing clinked  against  the  first  in  an  adjacent 
apron  pocket. 

82 


Truthful     Jane 

After  which  Susan  sped  up  the  stairs  as  fast 
as  her  feet  could  carry  her,  to  find  Miss  Jane 
Evelyn  calmly  putting  on  her  hat  and  veil  before 
her  little  mirror. 

"  I  wish  you  would  call  a  cab  for  me,  directly, 
Susan,"  said  the  young  lady;  "and  could  you 
help  me  carry  this  box  down  to  the  area  door, 
do  you  think?  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn,  -  where  are  you 
goin'?"  implored  Susan,  wild-eyed  with  haste 
and  sudden  alarm.  "  Don't  do  nothink  rash,  I 
himplore  you,  miss !  " 

"  Don't  be  a  goose,  Susan ;  but  do  as  you're 
bid.  I  have  arranged  to  travel  in  America  with 
a — lady.  And  you  must  help  me  get  away  out 
of  the  house  without  a  scene;  there's  a  good 
girl." 

Susan  sighed  deeply.  She  was  as  wax  in  Miss 
Jane  Evelyn's  hands,  and  she  knew  it.  "  Does 
the  missus  know  where  you're  a-goin',  miss?" 
she  ventured  to  inquire. 

"  No,  Susan,"  Jane  told  her  firmly.  "  I  have 
decided  to  look  out  for  myself  from  now  on;  I 
83 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

am  plenty  old  enough."  Miss  Blythe  looked 
very  tall  and  dignified  as  she  said  this,  and 
Susan  went  meekly  away  to  call  the  cab,  finger- 
ing Mr.  Towle's  money  as  she  did  so  with  an 
air  of  guilty  reserve. 

It  was  quite  dusk  when  Jane's  modest  lug- 
gage was  finally  strapped  atop  the  cab,  and  Jane 
herself  was  seated  within.  Poor  Susan  stood 
blubbering  at  the  curb.  "  I  wisht  to  'eavin's 
you'd  think  better  of  it,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn,"  she 
whimpered.  "  I  'ate  to  see  you  a-goin'  hoff  like 
this  wi'  nobody  to  say  good-by  but  me,  an'  a 
nice  gent'man  likely  a-breakin'  'is  'eart  to  bits 
when  'e  finds  you're  gone." 

"Pooh!"  said  Jane,  rather  faintly;  "he'll 
not  care.  Nobody  will  care  but  you,  my  good 
Susan.  Good-by,  dear,  dear  Susan !  And  thank 
you  again  for  everything  you've  always  been 
doing  for  me !  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn,  if  you  do  be  set  on 

goin' — as  I  see  you  be,  I  'ope  as  'ow  you'll  'ave 

a  most  'eavinly  time,  an'  come  back  merried  to 

a  rich  gent'man — for  they  do  say  as  'ow  all  the 

84 


Truthful    Jane 

gents  in  Hamerica  is  a-rollin'  in  gold  an'  di'- 
mon's;  an'  'eavin  knows  you  deserve  the  best 
of  heverythink,  Miss  Jane  Evelyn ;  that  you  do ! 
God  bless  you,  miss,  an'  thank  you  kindly! 
Good-by!" 

Then  the  cabby  slammed  the  door  and  Jane 
found  herself  rolling  away  to  Belgravia  Cres- 
cent, where  Mrs.  Markle,  clad  in  a  voluminous 
traveling  cloak  and  heavily  veiled,  was  waiting 
to  join  her.  Mrs.  Markle  pressed  the  girl's 
hand  in  her  fat,  moist  palm.  "  I  was  beginning 
to  fear  you  would  not,  after  all,  come  wiz  me, 
dear  child,"  she  said  sweetly.  "  I  should  have 
wept  wiz  ze  disappointment." 

Once  on  board  ship  Mrs.  Markle's  manner 
changed  perceptibly.  "  You  will  not  bozzer  me 
while  at  sea,"  she  said  to  Jane,  rather  sharply, 
"  not — at — all — you  comprend  ?  I  am  seeck — 
ah !  I  suffer  wiz  ze  mal  de  mer,  an'  I  not  talk — 
nevaire.  You  sleep  in  anozzer  cabin — ze  stew- 
ardess she  will  show  you.  But  stay,  your 
jacket  iss  too — what  you  call  it — too  theen — 
not  war-rm  for  the  sea.  It  iss  so  cold — ugh !  see  I 

85 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

I  make  you  warm  wiz  zis."  And  Mrs.  Markle 
drew  from  her  steamer  trunk  a  luxurious  fur- 
lined  cloak  which  she  threw  upon  Jane's  slender 
shoulders. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  want  me  to  wear  this 
cloak?  "  asked  Jane,  astonished  beyond  measure. 
"Oh,  thank  you!  You  are  very  kind;  but  I 
think  my  own  jacket  will  be  quite  comfortable. 
I  could  not  wear  a  borrowed  garment." 

The  woman  was  smiling  broadly,  but  the 
smile  slowly  faded  as  she  stared  at  Jane's 
flushed  face. 

"  Eh — but  w'y  not?  "  she  demanded.  "  You 
evaire  cross  ze  ocean  before  zis?  " 

"No,"  confessed  Jane;  "but " 

"  Zen  you  do  as  I  say.  You  would  fr-r-eeze 
in  zis  sing,"  and  she  fingered  Jane's  modest  wrap 
contemptuously.  "  Come,"  she  murmured  per- 
suasively; "  you  will  please  me — yes?  I  ha-a-te 
to  have  anyone  wiz  me  feel  ze  discomfort.  Ah, 
now,  see !  " 

Jane  blushed  resentfully,  then  sighed,  as  the 
luxurious  folds  fell  about  her  little  figure. 
86 


Truth  ful     Jane 

"  Why,  it  just  fits  me !  "  she  exclaimed  in  an 
astonished  voice. 

"  Certainment!  "  smiled  the  woman,  passing 
her  fat,  jeweled  fingers  complacently  over  the 
girl's  shoulders.  "  I  am  very  good  judge  of  ze 
figure.  I  was  sure  it  would  fit." 

"  What,  did  you  buy  it  for  me  ?  "  cried  Jane, 
quite  overcome  by  such  kindness. 

"  Why  sure  I  did !  "  purred  the  woman.  "  An' 
ze  leetle  cap,  too — see?"  And  she  settled  a 
coquetish  yachting  cap  into  place  on  Jane's  head. 
"  Ze  hats  wiz  fezzers,  zey  blow  into  bits  an'  fly 
away  at  sea.  You  leave  zis  leetle  coat  an'  hat 
wiz  me  till  we  come  in  port,  zen  I  gif  zem  to  you 
alright.  But  mind,  you  mus'  not  spik  to  any- 
body on  ze  ship — not — one — word — of — me  I 
You  un'erstan' — eh?" 

Jane  stared  at  the  woman's  scowling  face  with 
something  like  fear.  But  as  she  looked  the  frown 
on  Mrs.  Markle's  large  face  melted  into  quick 
laughter.  "  You're  alright — alright,  a  real  nize 
young  lady,"  she  murmured,  "  you  will  not  spik 
to  men  or  to  any  womans — no,  nevaire.  Go 

8? 


Truth  f u  1     Jane 

now,  an'  make  ze  voyage.  I  see  you  once  every 
day  after  ze  dejeuner" 

Jane  stepped  out  rather  uncertainly  into  the 
brilliantly  lighted  corridor  beyond  the  state- 
room door,  then  paused  with  a  startled  face. 
Something  strange  and  powerful  had  begun  to 
throb  in  the  unknown  depths  beneath  her  feet, 
slowly  at  first,  then  steadying  to  a  monotonous 
beat — beat.  The  screw  of  the  great  ship,  which 
was  to  bear  her  to  new  and  strange  experiences 
beyond  the  sea,  was  in  motion. 

Several  hours  later  Lady  Agatha  returning 
from  a  dinner  party,  very  much  out  of  temper 
because  her  hostess  had  stupidly  given  the  rich 
American  wife  of  an  up-country  baronet  prece- 
dence over  her,  found  a  note  skewered  to  her 
cushion  with  a  big  black-headed  hat  pin  (Susan's 
device,  borrowed  from  a  shilling  shocker). 

"  Aunt  Agatha:"  (she  read)  "  I  am  going  to 
America,  and  as  I  do  not  intend  to  return,  you 
will  have  no  further  reason  to  regret  my  *  un- 
fortunate influence  '  over  your  children. 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Please  say  good-by  to  Percy  for  me.  He  is 
a  real  Aubrey-Blythe,  and  I  am  sorry  that  I  shall 
never  see  him  again.  But  I  shall  not  pretend 
that  I  am  sorry  to  be  leaving  your  house.  You 
will  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  me,  I  know;  and  I  am 
equally  glad  of  this  opportunity  of  going  away. 
So  we  are  quits. 

'  You  seemed  to  feel  that  I  do  not  appreciate 
what  you  have  done  for  me  in  the  past.  I  think 
I  have  and  do  appreciate  everything;  I  have 
thought  of  little  else  of  late.  And  this  has 
led  quite  directly  to  my  present  determination. 
Good-by,  good-by! 

"  JANE  EVELYN  AUBREY-BLYTHE." 

On  the  day  following,  the  Hon.  Wipplinger 
Towle  was  likewise  the  recipient  of  a  commu- 
nication, the  contents  of  which  he  finally  de- 

$ 

ciphered  with  difficulty.  It  was  written  on  pink 
paper,  strongly  scented  with  cheap  perfumery, 
and  was  fetched  to  his  lodgings,  so  his  man 
informed  him,  "  by  a  very  respectable  appearin' 
pusson  in  blue  an'  scarlet  livery." 
89 


Truthful     Jane 

"  i  sed  as  ow  i  wud  leve  yu  no,  sir,  wen  mis 
Jane  Evelyn  went  away," — he  read —  "  shes 
gon  to  America,  that  is  awl  i  no,  sir,  she  went 
suddint,  or  i  wud  ave  towld  yu.  if  i  ad  munny 
i  wud  folio,  if  the  shu  fitz,  put  it  awn.  Susan 
Haythorne." 


90 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE  six  days  of  the  voyage  passed  unevent- 
fully enough.  Jane  Blythe,  obeying  Mrs. 
Markle's  instructions,  spoke  to  no  one,  and  al- 
though one  or  two  women,  muffled  to  their  eyes 
in  wraps,  stared  at  her  in  sleepy  curiosity  from 
their  steamer  chairs,  and  an  elderly  man  restored 
her  head  covering,  which  on  one  occasion  es- 
caped its  moorings  and  blew  across  the  deck,  no 
one  attempted  to  enter  into  conversation  with 
her.  Jane  accepted  this  circumstance  as  she  ac- 
cepted everything  else  in  her  new  and  strange 
surroundings.  She  ate  regularly,  which  could  be 
said  of  very  few  of  the  other  passengers,  and 
slept  soundly  at  night  after  long,  delightful  days 
spent  on  deck  in  the  keen  mid-ocean  air,  and 
with  it  all  her  thin  face  rounded  into  a  lovely 
radiance  of  girlish  bloom,  which  caused  the  re- 
tiring Mrs.  Markle  to  exclaim  in  fretful  amaze- 
ment. 

91 


Truthful    Jane 

That  lady's  large,  flaccid  countenance  had  as- 
sumed a  peculiar,  olive-green  tint  which  the  glar- 
ing electric  lights  in  her  cabin  accentuated  to 
an  unpleasant  ghastliness.  She  was  very  short 
in  her  communications  with  Jane  in  the  brief 
interviews  which  took  place  each  day  after 
luncheon. 

"  You  spik  to  anyone  since  I  see  you — n'est- 
ce-pas?"  she  would  demand,  staring  eagerly 
at  Jane  from  the  midst  of  her  pillows.  "  Non? 
Tres  bienl  say  nossing  to  womans  asking  ques- 
tions; to  mens,  nossing.  I  ha-a-te  zem  all." 

"  But  no  one  has  spoken  to  me,  except  to  say 
'  good  morning '  at  the  table,"  Jane  made  haste 
to  assure  her. 

"  Alright — ires  bien"  muttered  Mrs.  Markle. 
"  Go  now — vite !  and  to-morrow — no,  next  day, 
we  come  in  port.  Zen  I  tell  you  one  leetle  sing 
you  do  for  me." 

"  I  have  done  nothing  for  you  yet,"  replied 

Jane,   in  genuine  distress.     "  Would  you  not 

like  me  to  read  aloud  to  you  for  a  while,  or 

bathe  your  head  with  cologne?     I  should  be 

92 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

so  glad  to  do  something  to  make  you  comfort- 
able." 

But  Mrs.  Markle  waved  her  aside  with  a  fret- 
ful motion  of  her  dingy,  jeweled  hands.  "  Go ; 
make  ze  voyage  as  you  like.  I  want  nossing — 
nossing  till  we  come  in  port.  Zen  I  say  what 
you  mus'  do.  A  mos'  leetle  sing,  I  tell  you." 

On  the  last  day  when  the  women  passengers 
were  beginning  to  look  less  like  rows  of  Egyp- 
tian mummies  put  out  for  an  airing,  and  a  buzz 
of  cheerful  conversation  pervaded  the  decks  and 
cabins,  Jane  was  astonished  to  find  Mrs.  Markle 
sitting  in  her  stateroom,  fully  dressed  and  elab- 
orately frizzled  and  coiffured,  as  on  the  day  she 
had  first  seen  her. 

"  Oh,  are  you  better?  I  am  so  glad!  "  ex- 
claimed Jane.  "  Won't  you  come  up  on  deck 
for  a  while,  and  see  all  the  people  ?  " 

"  Non!  "  snorted  Mrs.  Markle.  "  I  will  not. 
I  am  not  able  to  walk  yet.  I  am — what  you 
call  it — we-e-k  from  ze  illness.  Now  leesten  to 
moi,  I  gif  you  your  hat  an'  coat.  Put  zem  on, 
an'  leave  ze  fur  wiz  me.  Zen  stay  in  cabin 
7  93 


Truthful    Jane 

till  ze  customs  officer  comes  aboard.  You  have 
no  articles  dutiable — non?  " 

Jane  stared  at  her  in  mute  amazement.  "  I 
don't — know,"  she  stammered. 

"  Have  you  di'mon's,  watches,  fezzers — laces 
— eh?"  sneered  Mrs.  Markle,  "kid  gloves, 
silks,  bronzes — in  your  so  leetle  box? — nonf 
Say  so,  zen ;  when  zey  ask  you.  Zes  so  gra-a-nd 
United  Sta-a-tes  mek  you  pay — comprenezt — 
for  all  such  sings.  An'  see,  before  we  land  at 
ze  dock,  you  come  back  to  me  here.  I  s'all  ask 
you  to  help  wiz  ze  luggage." 

But  Jane  was  not  asked  to  carry  anything, 
when  at  last,  the  big  ship  securely  fast  at  her 
dock,  the  two  prepared  to  go  ashore. 

"  See,  now,  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Markle,  "  zere 
is  one  leetle  sing  I  wis'  not  to  lose — a  so  small 
package.  Do  you  mek  it  safe  inside  your  jacket, 
so  it  be  not  lost  for  me.  I  haf  no  place  to  keep 
it.  Do  not  take  it  out.  Say  nossing  to  nobody. 
I  gif  you  money  ven  you  gif  it  safe  to  moi.  Zen 
in  ze  customs,  you  will  go  by  your  box  in  ze  place 
marked  '  B  ' ;  I  mus'  stay  in  *  M.'  After  all  is 
94 


Truthful     Jane 

passed  we  go  on.  You  haf  nossing  dutiable — 
I  haf  nossing;  we  are  quick  through.  Zen  we 
go  to  see  ze  so  gr-r-and  sights  in  America — 
M»I" 

Jane  permitted  the  woman  to  fasten  a  flat 
package,  securely  wrapped  in  soft  paper,  in  the 
loose  folds  of  her  blouse.  Then  the  two  made 
their  way  to  the  deck,  and  from  thence  across 
the  gang  plank  into  the  great,  noisy  place,  where 
the  luggage  of  the  passengers  was  being  rapidly 
sorted  into  vast  piles. 

As  Mrs.  Markle  had  predicted,  they  seemed 
likely  to  be  quickly  passed  through  the  custom- 
house. Jane's  modest  luggage  was  thrown  down 
almost  at  her  feet,  and,  following  Mrs.  Markle's 
careful  directions,  she  at  once  drew  the  attention 
of  a  waiting  official  to  it. 

The  man  gruffly  demanded  her  keys ;  unlocked 
the  trunk ;  rumpled  its  scant  contents  with  a  per- 
functory hand;  replaced  it;  scribbled  a  cabalistic 
design  upon  its  lid  with  a  piece  of  chalk.  Then, 
as  if  moved  by  an  after  thought,  he  turned  to 
the  girl  who  stood  looking  on. 

95 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Have  you  anything  dutiable  about  your  per- 
son?" he  asked  sharply;  "any  jewelry — laces 
— or  such  like?  " 

"  I  have  my  locket  with  my  father's  picture," 
confessed  Jane,  trembling,  "  and  mother's  wed- 
ding ring;  oh,  sir,  please  don't  take  them 
away  from  me.  They'd  be  no  good  to  anyone 
but  me." 

The  man  was  gazing  at  her  keenly.  Some- 
thing in  his  stern  eyes  reminded  Jane  of  the  mys- 
terious flat  package  Mrs.  Markle  had  given  into 
her  charge. 

"  And  I  have  a — a  small  parcel,  too,"  she  fal- 
tered; "  I  don't  know  what  is  in  it." 

"  Give  it  to  me;  I'll  soon  tell  you,"  said  the 
man  grimly. 

"  It  doesn't  belong  to  me,  sir,"  added  Jane, 
trembling  still  more  as  the  inspector's  practiced 
fingers  quickly  undid  the  wrappings. 

Then  she  stared  in  astonishment  as  the  man 
shook  out  yards  and  yards  of  costly,  filmy  lace. 

"  You  didn't  know  what  was  in  it — eh?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Jane. 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  Where  did  you  get  it,  miss?  " 

"  The  lady  I  am  traveling  with  asked  me  to 
carry  it  for  her,"  faltered  Jane.  "  Oh,  but  I 
mustn't  lose  it.  You  must  give  it  to  me  directly. 
I  am  sure  it  looks  very  valuable." 

'  You're  right  it  does,"  said  the  man  grimly. 
"  I  guess  you'll  have  to  come  with  me,  young 
woman,  and  we'll  see  what  else  you're  carrying 
for  the  lady." 

"  Oh,  I've  nothing  else !  "  protested  Jane, 
"  and  Mrs.  Markle  is  waiting  for  me;  I  see  her 


now." 


"  Where  ? "  demanded  the  official,  keenly 
alert.  "  Point  her  out  to  me !  " 

"  The  large  lady  yonder  with  the  long 
cloak — .  Oh,  she  is  looking  at  me  now !  I  am 
afraid  she  will  be  displeased  about  the  lace.  But 
of  course,  I  had  to  tell  you  when  you  asked  me." 

"  Of  course !  "  echoed  the  man,  with  a  sneer, 
"  the  ladies  are  always  careful  to  tell  me  every- 
thing of  the  sort.  Now,  you'll  go  with  this 
woman ;  she'll  look  into  your  case.  And  I'll  just 
step  across  and  speak  to  Mrs.  Markle." 

97 


Truthful    Jane 

The  next  hour  in  Jane  Blythe's  history  is  best 
passed  over  in  pitying  silence.  At  the  end  of  it 
a  pallid,  tremulous  girl  was  confronting  a  stern- 
faced  official  to  whom  she  related  in  detail  the 
circumstances  of  her  short  acquaintance  with 
Mrs.  Markle. 

"  She  asked  you  to  leave  your  hat  and  jacket 
in  her  cabin,  did  she  ?  "  he  interrupted  sharply, 
at  one  point  in  the  narrative. 

"  She  said  it  was  too  thin  for  the  sea,"  Jane 
told  him.  "  She  was  very  kind  and  loaned  me  a 
warm  cloak  lined  with  fur." 

"  Did  you  notice  anything  peculiar  about  your 
own  jacket  when  you  put  it  on  to  leave  the 
ship?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Jane ;  "  I  was  too  much  taken 
up  with  having  reached  America  to  notice  that 
it  was  thicker  and  lumpy  in  spots." 

"  It  was  very  neatly  done,"  put  in  the  female 
inspector,  whose  name  was  Forbes.  "  The 
woman  had  ample  time  during  the  voyage  to 
quilt  thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of  laces  be- 
tween the  lining  and  the  outside.  It  is  evi- 
98 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

dently  an  old  game  successfully  played  before 
this." 

Then  she  stepped  to  one  side  to  make  room 
for  a  second  inspector  who  entered  from  the  rear 
accompanied  by  Mrs.  Markle  herself,  unbending 
and  majestic. 

"  I  s'all  complain  of  zis  outra-a-ge !  You  s'all 
be  arrest,  betes,  animals — all !  "  announced  Mrs. 
Markle  in  a  shrill,  high-pitched  voice.  "  Zere 
was  nossing  dutiable  in  my  luggage — I  was 
alright  aussi — n'est-ce  pas  ?  " 

The  woman  inspector  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  I  found  nothing,"  she  agreed.  "  But—"  She 
glanced  expressively  at  Jane  who  had  fixed 
her  clear  hazel  eyes  reproachfully  upon  Mrs. 
Markle. 

"  Is  this  the  person  in  whose  employ  you 
crossed  from  England?  "  demanded  the  presid- 
ing official  of  Jane. 

"  Yes,  sir,  this  is  Mrs.  Markle,"  replied  Jane 
politely. 

"  Lies! — all  lies!  "  snapped  the  stout  woman. 
u  Nevaire  before  have  I  seen  zis  young  woman. 
99 


Truth  f u  1    Jane 

My  name  is  Madame  Melbrun.  I  dema-a-nd 
my  release  immediatement.  Zis  adventuress  is 
a  stra-a-nger  to  moi;  I  have  nossing  to  do  wiz 
her." 

Jane's  eyes  opened  wide  with  shocked  sur- 
prise. "  Oh!  "  she  cried.  "  How  can  you  say 
that?" 

Mrs.  Markle  had  folded  her  fat  hands  across 
her  capacious  form  with  an  air  of  haughty  inno- 
cence. She  did  not  once  look  at  Jane.  "  I  have 
no  articles  dutiable,"  she  repeated.  "  I  am  first- 
class  passenger — name  Madame  Melbrun — you 
find  it  so  on  ze  passenger  list.  I  dem-a-and  my 
r-r-rights  1  " 

"  Let  her  go,"  ordered  the  presiding  official, 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  she's  got  us;  but  then 
we've  got  her,  too." 

Mrs.  Markle  swept  out  without  so  much  as 
a  glance  in  Jane's  direction;  nevertheless  that 
young  person  shivered  a  little  as  if  conscious  of 
the  woman's  murderous  thoughts. 

The  inspector  was  writing  something  in  a 
ledger  with  a  pen  which  scratched  sharply.  He 
100 


Truthful    Jane 

raised  his  eyes  as  the  pen  ceased  its  mordant 
protest.  "  You  may  go,"  he  said  to  Jane. 

"  Where  may  I  go?  "  asked  the  girl  piteously. 

"  Anywhere  you  like,"  returned  the  inspector 
briskly.  "  You  are  free.  Better  keep  out  of 
Madame  Melbrun's  way,  though.  You  owe  her 
something  like  five  thousand  dollars,  and  she'd 
like  to  collect.  Better  be  more  careful  in  your 
choice  of  mistresses  next  time  you  hire  out,  young 
woman." 

The  woman  inspector  looked  pityingly  at 
Jane.  "  You  come  with  me,"  she  said.  "  I'll 
help  you  put  your  jacket  together  again." 

Bertha  Forbes  was  as  good  as  her  word,  and 
better.  When  she  found  Jane  had  no  friends  in 
America  and  little  money,  she  took  her  to  her 
own  boarding  house  in  a  narrow,  dirty  street 
near  the  North  River  pier,  and  later  introduced 
her  to  a  reliable  employment  agency. 

Jane  was  far  too  young  and  inexperienced  in 

the  ways  of  the  great  and  wicked  city  of  New 

York  to   be  suitably   grateful   for  these   kind 

offices;  but  she  thanked  Miss  Forbes  warmly, 

101 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

even  while  she  declined  to  follow  her  later 
counsels. 

1  You'd  better  go  back  to  your  aunt,"  Miss 
Forbes  had  said  grimly.  "  It  isn't  pleasant  to 
be  snubbed  by  rich  relatives,  I'll  admit,  but  it's 
far  better  than — some  other  things  I  could  tell 
you  of;  and  I'll  see  to  the  transportation." 

Jane  set  her  small  white  teeth.  "  I'll  not  go 
back  to  Aunt  Agatha,"  she  murmured  passion- 
ately. "  I  am  strong — far  stronger  than  I  look. 
I  can  work." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Bertha  Forbes,  who  was 
merely  a  lonely,  good-hearted  woman,  when  she 
was  off  duty.  "  I'll  help  you  get  a  place." 

But  the  stars  in  their  courses  seemed  to  fight 
against  Jane.  There  were  numbers  of  persons 
indeed  who  were  looking  for  a  "  refined  young 
woman,  English  preferred,"  to  act  as  nursery 
governess;  but,  unluckily,  the  refined  and  un- 
deniably attractive  Miss  Blythe  had  no  refer- 
ences beyond  a  manly-looking  scrawl  of  Bertha 
Forbes's  composition,  in  which  Jane  was  de- 
scribed as  being  a  young  English  woman  known 
102 


Truthful     Jane 

to  the  writer  as  a  well-educated  person  of  good, 
moral  character. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Jane,  with  an  ingenuous 
blush,  "  that  it  hurts  your  conscience  to  say  all 
that  about  me,  considering  the  circumstances  of 
our  first  acquaintance." 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Forbes,  "  my  conscience  is 
not  of  the  abnormally  sensitive  variety,  in  the 
first  place;  in  the  second,  I  am  morally  certain 
that  you  are  exactly  what  you  say  you  are.  But 
the  truth  is,  my  good  girl,  that  my  convictions, 
while  entirely  satisfactory  to  myself,  will  not 
hold  water  if  it  comes  to  investigating  them,  and 
the  people  who  are  willing  to  pay  well  for  hav- 
ing their  children  kept  out  of  their  way  are  quite 
apt  to  investigate.  It  gives  them  an  easy  con- 
science, you  see." 

Added  to  this  unconvincing  dimness  of  her 
immediate  background  was  Jane's  ingrained 
habit  of  telling  the  truth  upon  occasions  when 
an  elusive  reticence  would  have  been  far  more 
prudent. 

One  impulsive  lady,  it  is  true,  was  about  to 
103 


Truthful     Jane 

engage  Jane  out  of  hand,  being  irresistibly  at- 
tracted by  her  smile  and  manner.  But  before 
concluding  the  matter  she  chanced  to  ask  Miss 
Blythe  why  she  had  come  to  America. 

"  I  came  to  America,"  said  Jane,  endeavoring 
to  be  discreet,  "  because  I  was — very  unhappy  in 
England." 

"  Indeed !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Newport,  scent- 
ing a  mystery,  "  and  why  were  you  unhappy  in 
England?" 

Jane  was  silent  for  a  space.  "  I  don't  see  why 
I  should  tell  you,"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  proud 
lifting  of  her  little  head;  "my  troubles  con- 
cerned no  one  but  myself." 

Mrs.  Newport  raised  her  eyebrows.  "  I  must 
insist  upon  knowing  everything  about  your 
past,"  she  said  conclusively,  "  else  I  cannot 
engage  you." 

Jane  arose  with  the  air  of  a  duchess  in  dis- 
guise. "  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Newport,"  she 
said. 

Bertha  Forbes  shook  her  head  when  she  heard 
of  this  circumstance.  "  I'm  sorry  you  didn't  see 
104 


Truthful    Jane 

fit  to  tell  the  woman  something  about  yourself," 
she  said.  '  There  is  really  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of  in  your  story,  except  the  smuggling 
part — that  I'd  advise  you  to  keep  to  yourself." 

"  No,"  said  Jane  stonily.  "  I  have  nothing  to 
be  ashamed  of;  but  the  fact  that  I  wish  to  work 
for  my  living  does  not  give  that  woman,  or  any 
other,  the  right  to  ask  impertinent  questions 
about  my  private  affairs." 

"Why,  yes,"  disagreed  Miss  Forbes  dryly; 
"  it  does.  Mrs.  Newport  was  about  to  engage 
you  to  play  the  young  mother  to  her  three  dar- 
lings, while  she  golfed  and  motored  and  other- 
wise disported  her  fashionable  self;  the  very 
least  she  could  do  was  to  assure  herself  of  your 
fitness  for  the  position.  And  this  involved  a 
knowledge  of  your  Alpha  as  well  as  your 
Omega;  you  see  that;  don't  you?  " 

Being  very  far  from  stupid,  Jane  saw,  and 
when,  on  the  following  day,  Mrs.  Narragan- 
sett's  housekeeper  interviewed  Miss  Blythe,  that 
young  person  was  prepared  to  be  frank  and  open 
to  the  point  of  telling  all  her  pitiful  little  story. 
105 


Truth  f u 1    Jane 

"  My  name,"  she  began,  in  response  to  Mrs. 
Pott's  initial  question,  "  is  Jane  Evelyn  Aubrey- 
Blythe." 

Mrs.  Potts  bestowed  a  supercilious  glance 
upon  the  young  person.  "  And  what  was  your 
last  position  as  nursery  governess  ?  "  she  further 
demanded. 

"  I  taught  my  cousins,  Percy  and  Cecil  Aubrey- 
Blythe,  in  London  and  at  Blythe  Court." 

"  Indeed!  And  why  did  you  leave  that  situ- 
ation, if  you  please?  " 

Jane  drew  a  quick  breath.  "  Must  I  answer 
that  question  ?  "  she  entreated,  blushing  hotly, 
a  circumstance  which  the  experienced  Mrs.  Potts 
noted  with  growing  disfavor. 

"  You  certainly  must,"  that  lady  assured  her 
with  businesss-like  coldness. 

"  I — I  thought  my  aunt  was  unkind  to 
me,"  faltered  Jane,  with  every  appearance  of 
guilt.  "  I  was  very  much  vexed  with  her 

and — and   with   my    Cousin    Gwendolen,    and 
^^ » 

"  Your  aunt's  name,  if  you  please?    And  you 
1 06 


Truthful     Jane 

may  also  state  the  occasion  of  her  being  unkind 
to  you." 

"  My  aunt's  name  is  Lady  Agatha  Aubrey- 
Blythe,"  said  Jane,  endeavoring  to  pull  herself 
together  with  very  little  success.  "  She  was  un- 
kind to  me  because — because —  She  accused 
me  of —  No ;  I — I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  It  is  quite  unnecessary,  Miss  —  Aubrey- 
Blythe,"  Mrs.  Potts  assured  her,  with  an  unpleas- 
ant smile.  "  You  are  not,  I  am  sure,  a  suitable 
person  for  the  situation.  Good  morning." 

Jane  wept  a  little  when  she  confided  this 
last  failure  to  Bertha  Forbes's  sympathizing 
ear.  "  I  couldn't  tell  that  woman  what  Aunt 
Agatha  said  to  me  about  Mr.  Towle;  now, 
could  I?" 

"  She  wouldn't  have  believed  it,  if  you  had," 
said  Miss  Forbes  gruffly.  "  Better  try  another 
tack,"  she  added,  still  more  gruffly.  "  Better  yet, 
go  back  to  your  uncle.  He  can't  be  a  bad  sort, 
from  what  you  tell  me." 

"Uncle    Robert?     Oh,   no!    he   is — he  has 
never  been  unkind  to  me.    I — I  quite  love  Uncle 
107 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

Robert;  that  is  to  say,  I  should  love  to  love  him, 
if  he  would  let  me." 

'  Then  you'll  go  back  to  England  like  a  sen- 
sible girl;  tell  your  uncle  you've  made  a  fool  of 
yourself,  but  you'll  try  not  to  do  it  again.  Think 
it  over  till  to-morrow  morning,  and  remember 
I'll  take  care  of  the  transportation." 

Jane  reflected  upon  this  eminently  sane  prop- 
osition over  night;  then  she  faced  her  new-found 
friend  and  advisor  with  a  pale  but  determined 
face.  "  Thank  you  for  offering  to  pay  my  pas- 
sage back  to  England,"  she  said,  "  but  I  really 
can't  accept  it.  I  couldn't  face  Aunt  Agatha  and 
Gwendolen  and — and  the  others.  I'd  rather 
scrub  floors  than  to  do  that!  Perhaps  I'll  have 
to  scrub  in  the  end,  for  my  money  is  almost 
gone." 

Bertha  Forbes  stared  at  the  girl  speculatively. 
"If  you  will  tell  them  at  the  employment  agency 
that  you're  willing  to  do  house  work,  you'll 
soon  find  a  place,"  she  said;  "  there  are  plenty 
of  people  who  will  hire  you  to  work  in  their 
houses,  and  ask  few  questions  about  your  past. 
108 


Truth  f u  1     Jane 

But  it's  no  fun  to  scrub  floors,  my  young  friend, 
unless  the  floors  happen  to  be  your  own.  I  never 
tried  that  myself;  but  I've  seen  deluded  young 
women  who  seemed  to  think  it  a  vastly  agreeable 
pastime,  if  there  was  only  a  young  man  in  the 
case." 

And  this  is  how  it  came  about  that  Miss  Jane 
Evelyn  Aubrey-Blythe — just  two  weeks  from  the 
time  she  informed  the  invisible  forces  of  the 
universe  that  things  would  have  to  change — 
found  herself  humbly  seeking  entrance  at  the 
side  door  of  a  modest,  detached  villa,  situated 
in  a  modest,  detached  suburb  of  New  York. 
"  Things  "  had  changed,  indeed! 


109 


CHAPTER    VII 

THERE  was,  apparently,  no  one  at  home  in 
the  modest  detached  villa;  for,  although  Jane 
could  hear  the  trill  of  the  electric  bell  within, 
the  door  remained  fast  shut.  After  a  discreet 
interval  she  ventured  to  sit  down  for  a  minute's 
rest  on  a  little  green  bench  set  beneath  the  bud- 
ding vines.  Then  she  drew  a  deep  breath.  It 
was  very  quiet,  and  the  air  blowing  over  wide 
expanses  of  vacant  lots  was  sweet  and  warm. 
Dandelions  were  in  bloom  amid  the  green  April 
grass,  and  an  American  robin  sang  loudly  in  a 
tall  elm  near  the  front  gate.  Jane  looked  about 
her  with  a  homesick  flutter  of  her  sore  heart. 
The  raw  suburb,  with  its  muddy  road,  its  hastily 
constructed  sidewalks,  its  ornate  houses  with 
their  protruding  balconies,  bay-windows  and 
hideous  roof  lines,  broken  by  extraneous  orna- 
mental railings  and  dormer  windows  of  no 
no 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

known  style  of  architecture,  offended  eyes  ac- 
customed to  the  garden  trimness  and  ordered 
beauty  of  England. 

Bertha  Forbes's  parting  advice  recurred  to  her 
mind  with  an  added  touch  of  poignancy:  "  It 
may  not  be  pleasant  to  be  snubbed  by  one's  rich 
relations ;  but  it's  better  than  some  other  things 
I  know  of." 

Jane  wondered — for  a  fleeting  minute — if  she 
had  made  a  fool  of  herself.  If,  after  all,  she 
would  not  better  have  endured  accustomed  woes 
than  to  fly  to  ills  she  knew  not  of. 

But  such  tardy  reflections  were  speedily  ended 
by  the  sound  of  voices  and  footsteps  from  the 
rear.  Jane  rose  hastily  to  her  feet  just  in  time 
to  behold  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  young  man 
appear  around  the  corner  of  the  veranda  at  an 
ambling  trot,  while  a  small  boy  of  two  or  three 
plied  a  switch  about  his  heels  and  jerked  the 
scarlet  lines  attached  to  his  person. 

"Det-tup!"  shouted  the  boy  vociferously. 
"Det-tup,  I  say!" 

But  the  young  man  had  already  caught  sight 
in 


Truthful     Jane 

of  Jane.  "  Hold  on,  Buster,"  he  said,  turning 
to  the  child,  "  till  I  speak  to  the  lady.  Did 
you  ring?"  he  added,  addressing  Jane,  with  a 
polite  bow. 

"  Yes,"  she  told  him;  "  but  no  one  answered. 
I  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Belknap — on  business,"  she 
added  hastily. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  returned,  apparently  absorbed 
in  his  contemplation  of  Jane's  undeniable  beauty. 
"  Mrs.  Belknap  is  not  at  home;  but — oh,  don't 
go — er — she'll  be  at  home  soon.  In  fact,  she 
told  me  she  was  expecting  some  one,  and  asked 
me  to " 

"  I  think  she  expected  me,"  said  Jane 
coldly.  "  I  am  the  new  maid — that  is,  if  I 
suit." 

The  young  man  stared  incredulously.  "  I — I 
beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered,  a  wave  of 
color  passing  over  his  boyish  face.  "  I  don't 
know  what  you'll  think  of  me;  but  I — er — 
fancied  you  were  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Belknap's. 
She  was  expected  this  afternoon,  and  I " 

"  No;  I  am  the  maid,"  said  Jane  haughtily. 

112 


Truthful     Jane 

"If  Mrs.  Belknap  is  coming  home  directly,  I  will 
wait  here  till  she  comes." 

She  sat  down  again  on  the  green  bench  and 
fixed  her  hazel  eyes  on  the  remote  distance. 

The  small  boy  threw  down  his  whip  and 
climbed  up  the  steps.  "  I  want  a  piece  of  bwead 
an'  butter,"  he  said  confidentially,  "  an'  I  want 
a  dwink  of  water,  an'  I  want " 

"  Buster!  "  called  the  young  man  warningly. 
"Come  here!" 

But  the  infant  paid  no  heed.  "  I  want  a  piece 
of  bwead  an'  butter,"  he  repeated  in  a  louder 
voice,  "  an'  I  want  a  dwink  of  water,  an'  I 
want " 

"  Were  you  speaking  to  me?  "  inquired  Jane, 
withdrawing  her  eyes  from  the  safe  horizon  and 
looking  down  at  the  child. 

'  Yeth,"  he  assented,  "  I  want  a  piece  of 
bwead  an'  butter,  an'  I  want  a  dwink  of  water, 
an'  I " 

"  Come  with  me,  Buster!  I'll  get  them  for 
you,"  volunteered  the  young  man.  He  was  de- 
liberately divesting  himself  of  the  scarlet  harness. 


Truth  f u 1    Jane 

"  Won't  you  come  in?  "  he  went  on,  turning  to 
Jane.  "  I  see  it's  beginning  to  rain." 

Reluctantly  she  passed  in  at  the  door  he  held 
wide  for  her.  "  Please  sit  down,"  he  urged. 
"  I'm  sure  Mrs.  Belknap  will  be  at  home  very 
soon.  She's  only  gone  out  for  an  hour  or  so." 

"  I  want  a  d-w-i-nk!  "  vociferated  the  small 
boy. 

"  Yes,  I  gathered  as  much  from  your  remarks; 
come  on,  old  fellow." 

Jane  sat  down,  and  the  young  man  and  the 
child  disappeared  into  the  unknown  regions  be- 
yond. Jane  could  hear  the  boy's  shrill  voice,  and 
the  deeper  replies  of  the  man.  Her  cheeks  were 
very  red,  and  she  sat  stiffly  erect.  She  felt  un- 
reasonably vexed  with  herself,  with  the  child, 
but  most  of  all  with  the  young  man.  He  was 
unlike  any  masculine  person  of  her  acquaintance, 
she  reflected ;  still  he  had  spoken  to  her  very  civ- 
illy, though  not  in  the  tone  a  gentleman  should 
use  to  an  inferior.  But  was  he,  after  all,  a  gen- 
tleman ?  These  class  distinctions  were  said  to  be 
very  puzzling  in  America,  Jane  remembered. 
114 


Truth  f u  1    Jane 

She  resolved  not  to  speak  to  this  particular  young 
American  again.  It  would  not,  she  concluded 
sagely,  be  the  correct  thing  to  do. 

A  distant  crash  of  breaking  crockery,  an  in- 
fantile shriek,  an  exclamation  of  deep  dismay 
preceded  a  hasty  opening  of  the  closed  door. 
The  ingenuous  countenance  of  the  man  was 
thrust  hastily  within.  "  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon! 
but  could  you  come  out  and — er — help  me  a 
minute?  Buster  has  tipped  the  milk  all  over 
himself,  and  I — oh,  please  do — that's  a  good 
girl — .  I  don't  know  what  in  thunder — .  Hold 
hard,  old  fellow,  I'm  coming!  " 

The  last  by  way  of  reply  to  the  frenzied 
shrieks  of  rage  and  despair  which  issued  from  the 
rear. 

Jane's  austere  expression  relaxed  perceptibly 
as  she  surveyed  the  agitated  and  imploring  coun- 
tenance of  the  young  American. 

"  Oh,  thanks;  you're  awfully  good!  "  he  was 
saying,  as  Jane  arose,  preparatory  to  accompany- 
ing him  to  the  scene  of  the  disaster.  "  I  just 
set  the  bowl  of  milk  on  the  table,  you  know — 

"5 


Truthful     Jane 

he  wanted  milk  by  the  time  we  had  reached  the 
commissariat — and  while  I  was  hustling  for  the 
bread,  he  reached  up  to  investigate  and — you 
see  what  followed." 

The  infant  was  seated  in  a  pool  of  milk  on  the 
floor;  milk  dripped  slowly  from  his  flaxen  curls, 
the  tip  of  his  chubby  nose,  and  his  pink  cheeks. 
His  round  fists  were  applied  to  his  milky  eyes, 
while  his  rosy  mouth  emitted  scream  after  scream 
of  anguish. 

"Is  he  hurt?"  inquired  Jane,  in  a  business- 
like tone. 

"  He  must  have  caught  a  whack  of  the  bowl 
as  it  fell,  I  suppose,"  admitted  the  man.  "  What 
shall  we  do  ?  " 

Jane  had  already  helped  herself  to  an  apron 
which  hung  conveniently  near;  she  turned  up  her 
cuffs.  "  A  towel  and  a  basin,  please,"  she  sug- 
gested. Then  she  stooped  over  the  howling  in- 
fant and  lifted  him  gently  to  his  feet. 

"  Do  'way  1  "  he  shrieked,  thrashing  out 
vigorously  with  fists  and  feet;  "  I  want  my 
muzzer!  " 

116 


Truthful     Jane 

Jane  skillfully  evaded  the  attacks,  while  she 
plied  the  towel  with  a  calm  mastery  of  the  situ- 
ation, which  roused  the  wonder  and  warm  ad- 
miration of  the  man. 

"  Just  quit  that  kicking,  won't  you,  Buster?  " 
he  suggested,  in  a  conciliatory  tone.  "  I  declare, 
I  believe  I've  found  a — stick  of  candy — no — but 
it's  a  nickel  to  buy  one  with." 

The  magic  word  so  mendaciously  inserted 
acted  with  its  accustomed  power.  Jane,  busy 
with  her  beneficent  offices  in  which  the  towel  and 
basin  played  a  conspicuous  part,  scarcely  noticed 
the  fact  that  the  young  American,  whom  she  had 
so  recently  decided  to  ignore,  was  kneeling  close 
at  her  side  apparently  intent  upon  a  well-meant 
attempt  at  assistance. 

"  Why,  Jack  Everett — what  in  the  world!  " 
exclaimed  an  unfamiliar  voice  from  the  doorway. 

All  three  participants  in  the  late  tragedy  raised 
their  eyes  to  the  pretty  and — to  Jane's  notion — 
somewhat  too  smartly  dressed  young  woman, 
who  was  surveying  the  scene  in  an  attitude  of 
extreme  surprise. 

117 


Truthful     Jane 

The  man  rose  rather  shamefacedly  to  his  feet; 
the  small  boy,  breaking  away  from  Jane,  dashed 
forward  with  a  loud,  ecstatic  whoop  to  precipi- 
tate himself  and  his  milky  pinafore  upon  the 
lady;  while  Jane  hastily  turned  down  her 
cuffs,  a  deep  flush  of  vexation  mounting  to  her 
forehead. 

"  I  'pilled  all  'e  milk,  muzzer !  "  shouted  the 
infant.  "  Zen  I  bumped  my  head,  an'  I  cwied 
an'  I  cwed\  " 

"Where  is  Mary?"  demanded  the  new- 
comer. 

"  Mary  has  just  'shtipped  out  for  a  minut'," 
explained  the  young  man  mildly.  "  She  an- 
nounced her  intention  of  doing  so  shortly  after 
you  left  the  house.  Buster  and  I  have  been  keep- 
ing house  as  well  as  we  knew  how;  and  then — 
this — er — young  lady " 

"  I  am  the  maid  from  the  Streeter  agency," 
said  Jane  distinctly.  She  felt  sure  now  that  the 
man  was  not  a  gentleman ;  she  also  decided  that 
she  disliked  him  exceedingly. 

"  Oh!  "  murmured  the  lady,  turning  a  keenly 
118 


Truth  fu 1     Jane 

penetrating  and  speculative  gaze  upon  Jane. 
"  Well,  I  am  glad  you've  come.  What  is  your 
name?  " 

"  My  name  is — Jane,"  replied  that  individual, 
drawing  a  deep  breath.  The  "  Aubrey-Blythe  " 
refused  to  be  uttered. 

"  And  I  am  Mrs.  Belknap,"  graciously  re- 
turned the  young  woman,  apparently  paying  no 
heed  to  the  omission.  "  I  do  hope,"  she  added 
plaintively,  "  that  Mary's  sister  hasn't  been  taken 
suddenly  ill  again.  Mary  has  so  many  relatives, 
and  they  are  nearly  always  ill — or  dead." 

Jane  looked  her  astonishment. 

"  Mary  is  perfectly  devoted  to  her  family," 
Mrs.  Belknap  went  on,  "  and  that  is  really  why 
I  am  hiring  another  girl.  Mr.  Belknap  says  I 
must  have  somebody  to  fall  back  upon  when 
Mary  is  away.  Can  you  cook?  " 

"  Why,  no,  madam,"  said  Jane  stiffly.  "  I 
understood  that  I  was  to  be  a  nursery  governess, 
or  parlor  maid.  Mrs.  Streeter  didn't  seem  to 
understand  exactly." 

"  Why,  of  course,  I  shall  want  you  to  help 
119 


Truth  f u 1     Tane 
/ J 

me  look  after  Buster,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Belknap, 
with  a  somewhat  offended  air,  "  and  wait  at 
table,  and  answer  the  bell,  and  do  the  sweeping 
and  dusting,  and  the  cooking  and  dish  washing 
on  Mondays  and  Tuesdays — regular  second 
work,  you  know.  Mary  is  really  an  excellent 
servant — when  she's  here.  But  now  that  she's 
out  she  may  not  come  back  for  three  or  four 
days.  If  it  wasn't  so  nearly  impossible  to  get 
a  good  cook  out  here  I  should  have  changed 
long  ago.  But  we're  so  near  New  York.  I  dare 
say,  though,  I  shall  get  along  very  well  now  that 
I've  got  you." 

The  young  man  had  turned  his  broad  back 
on  the  two,  and  now  strolled  out  of  the  kitchen 
with  an  air  of  extreme  unconcern  which  ruffled 
Jane's  temper  afresh. 

Her  new  mistress  had  disburdened  herself  of 
several  parcels.  "  If  you'll  bring  these  upstairs 
for  me,"  she  said  pleasantly,  "  I'll  show  you  how 
to  dress  Buster — this  the  third  time  to-day — 
then  I'll  help  you  with  the  dinner.  Of  course, 
Mary  may  come  back.  But  I'm  afraid  not.  She 
120 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

hasn't  been  out  for  nearly  a  week,  and  I  suppose 
she  took  advantage  of  my  being  in  town." 

Mrs.  Belknap  sighed  profoundly,  and  Jane 
gathered  up  the  parcels  with  a  hesitating  air. 
Unknown  ills  loomed  very  large  at  the  present 
moment. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  did  you  bring  your  work- 
ing clothes  ?  "  Mrs.  Belknap  wanted  to  know. 
She  paused,  with  one  foot  on  the  stairs,  for 
Jane's  answer. 

"  Yes,  madam;  that  is,  I  brought  a  black  frock 
and  some  white  aprons." 

Jane's  proud  little  head  was  flung  back 
haughtily. 

"  And  caps?  You've  no  objections  to  a  cap, 
I  hope,  because  I  shall  require  you  to  wear  one. 
I  bought  some  sweet  little  frilled  ones  to-day. 
I  want  you  to  put  one  right  on.  There's  one 
thing  more,  I'm  sorry  I  haven't  two  rooms  for 
servants;  but  this  house  is  so  small,  you  see  it's 
impossible.  You  won't  mind  rooming  with 
Mary;  she's  very  good-natured — as  a  rule.  If 
you'll  just  come  upstairs  to  the  attic  floor,  I'll 

121 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

show  you  the  way.  Mary  isn't  so  very  neat 
about  her  room,  though  she's  a  splendid  cook 
and  laundress,  and  so  willing — when  she's  here. 
Oh,  dear!  this  is  worse  than  I  thought.  Mary 
is  so  careless  about  opening  her  windows  I  " 

Mrs.  Belknap  tip-toed  daintily  across  the  floor 
and  flung  the  two  windows  wide.  Then  she 
turned  a  dismayed  face  upon  Jane.  "  Mary  isn't 
so  very  orderly,"  she  repeated,  rather  vaguely. 
"  But  " — briskly — "  now  that  you're  here  I  do 
hope  you'll  try  and  keep  this  room  in  better 
order.  That's  always  a  second  girl's  work." 

"What  is  a  'second  girl,'  if  you  please?" 
asked  Jane.  "  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't " 

"Oh,  don't  say  thatl"  implored  Mrs.  Bel- 
knap  hastily.  "  I'll  explain  about  the  work  later. 
You  won't  find  it  hard.  We're  a  small  family, 
only  myself  and  husband,  and  little  boy — only 
one  child — and  my  brother,  Mr.  Everett,  is  stay- 
ing with  us  for  a  while." 

"  I  couldn't  sleep  in  this  room,  Mrs.  Belknap," 
said  Jane,  in  a  low  voice.  Her  eyes  said  plainly 
"  I  will  not." 

122 


Truthful     Jane 

Mrs.  Belknap  fetched  a  deep,  dispirited  sigh. 
"  I  could  put  a  cot  in  the  trunkroom,  I  suppose," 
she  said.  "  But,  just  for  the  present,  won't  you 
change  your  dress  and —  Oh,  yes,  we  haven't 
spoken  of  wages  or  days  out;  have  we?  I  was 
so  upset  to  find  Mary  gone  and  Buster  in  such 
a  mess.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  that  later.  I'll 
make  everything  satisfactory.  But  you  see,  I 
must  hurry  and  get  dinner  started.  I'm  afraid 
the  range  fire  is  out,  and  Mr.  Belknap  will  be 
at  home  at  six.  Please  come  down  as  soon  as 
you  can." 

Jane  relented  a  little  at  the  tone  of  entreaty 
in  the  young  woman's  voice.  "  She's  very  young 
to  be  keeping  house,"  she  told  herself  wisely,  as 
she  invested  her  trim  little  figure  in  the  black 
housemaid's  gown  with  white  cuffs  and  collar, 
which  she  had  purchased  at  Mrs.  Streeter's  sug- 
gestion. "  And  she's  certainly  very  odd  in  her 
manners  toward  a  servant.  But  then,  she's  an 
American." 

When  at  last  she  made  her  way  to  the  kitchen 
Jane  found  her  young  mistress  in  a  neat  shirt 
123 


Truthful     Jane 

waist  and  short  skirt  actively  engaged  in  prepar- 
ing a  meal.  Mrs.  Belknap  appeared  to  know 
exactly  what  to  do,  and  in  a  miraculously  short 
time  had  vegetables  cooking,  a  salad  in  course 
of  preparation,  and  a  steak  neatly  trimmed  and 
ready  for  broiling. 

"  Won't  you  set  the  table,  Jane?  You'll  find 
the  linen  in  the  sideboard  and  the  silver,  too. 
Then  put  the  plates  to  warm  and  a  medium- 
sized  platter  and  two  vegetable  dishes.  I  see 
Mary  had  the  decency  to  leave  a  custard  ready, 
and  there's  plenty  of  fruit." 

As  Jane  awkwardly  spread  the  cloth,  and  rum- 
maged in  the  drawers  for  the  required  silver, 
she  heard  Mrs.  Belknap's  distinct  American 
voice  in  the  kitchen :  " — not  a  bit  of  good,  I'm 
awfully  afraid,  Jack, — afraid  of  doing  any- 
thing, I  could  see  that  at  a  glance — Yes,  one  of 
those  *  high-class  servants.'  Pretty?  No,  I 
don't  think  so — not  at  all.  I'm  surprised  at  you, 
Jack!  I  fear  she's  only  one  more  in  the  long 
list  of  failures.  Oh,  dear,  I'd  give  anything  for 

a  real  good  girl !     It  does  seem " 

124 


Truthful     Jane 

Jane  guiltily  opened  the  door.  "  Did  you  say 
I  should  lay  the  table  for  four,  ma'am  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"No,  indeed;  Buster  will  eat  first,  and  he's 
almost  starved,  too,  poor  little  darling!  Yes, 
sweetheart,  mother's  hurrying.  Jane,  won't  you 
take  his  bread  and  milk  and  this  soft  egg,  and 
feed  him  at  that  little  side  table  in  the  dining 
room?  Or,  no — "  as  the  youngster  vociferated 
his  displeasure  at  this  arrangement.  "  Do  you 
want  mother  to  feed  you,  darling?  Carry  him 
in  the  other  room,  please,  Jack,  and  I'll  come 
and  feed  him.  Do  you  think  you  can  broil  this 
steak,  Jane,  and  mash  the  potatoes?  " 

"I'll  try,  ma'am,"  said  Jane  coldly;  "but  I 
don't  know  anything  at  all  about  cooking." 

"  You  don't  ?  Why,  how  extraordinary !  "  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Belknap  suspiciously.  "  I  should 
think  you  would  know  enough  to  broil  a  steak 
and  mash  potatoes,  even  if  you  have  always 
been  a  parlor  maid  or  a  nursery  governess.  Do 
you  think  you  can  coax  Buster  to  eat  his 


supper? 


125 


Truthful    Jane 

"I'll  try,  ma'am,"  repeated  Jane;  "but  of 
course  I'm  a  stranger  to — Master  Buster." 

"  Well,  I  think  if  you  will  try  to  look  pleasant, 
and  if  you'll  not  be  quite  so  wooden  in  your  man- 
ner that  he'll  not  dislike  you.  He  likes  almost 
everybody.  If  Buster  doesn't  like  you,  you  will 
be  of  very  little  use  to  me" 

Mrs.  Belknap  spoke  in  a  tone  of  crisp  decision 
which  betrayed  her  rapidly  growing  conviction 
that  Jane  would  not  "  do." 

Jane  divined  this,  and  it  piqued  her  pride,  al- 
ready sorely  wounded.  She  walked  into  the  din- 
ing room,  with  her  pretty  head  held  very  high 
indeed,  to  encounter  Mr.  John  Everett's  blue 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  an  expression  of  respect- 
ful sympathy.  He  had  thoughtfully  installed  his 
small  nephew  in  a  tall  highchair,  and  was  awk- 
wardly tying  a  bib  about  his  neck. 

"  I'm  to  feed  Master  Buster,  if  you  please, 
sir,"  said  Jane,  with  a  severe  tightening  of  her 
pretty  lips. 

"  All  right,"  agreed  Mr.  Everett  cheerfully. 
"  Now  Buster,  if  you'll  be  a  good  boy  and  eat 
126 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

your  supper  without  howling  for  your  mother, 
I'll  go  down  to  the  grocery  store  and  buy  you 
some  candy.  Do  you  hear,  young  man  ?  " 

'  Yeth,"  assented  the  infant,  fixing  solemn, 
expectant  eyes  upon  Jane.  "  Will  you  bwing 
her  some,  too?  " 

Apparently  Mr.  Everett  did  not  hear  this 
question.  "  Now,  mind,  Buster,"  he  said  seri- 
ously, "  no  kicking,  no  howling  for  mother.  Sit 
up ;  be  a  man,  and  eat  this  supper  like  a  Trojan. 
I'll  be  back  before  you're  through,  with  at  least 
four  chocolate  drops." 

Jane  sternly  suppressed  the  feeling  of  grati- 
tude, which  threatened  to  well  up  in  her  home- 
sick heart,  with  an  exuberance  entirely  dispro- 
portionate to  the  occasion.  But  John  Everett 
had  already  caught  the  upward  flicker  of  the 
girl's  long  lashes,  and  the  shadow  of  a  smile 
which  hovered  about  her  mouth.  This  particu- 
lar young  American  was  thinking  of  many  things 
as  he  strode  briskly  toward  the  grocery;  but 
chiefly  of  the  arena  presented  by  his  sister's  small 
kitchen,  and  of  the  varied  actors  therein. 
127 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Man's  inhumanity  to  man  may  be  a  live 
topic,"  reflected  Mr.  Everett  sagely,  "  but  what 
about  woman's  inhumanity  to  woman  ?  And  yet 
sis  doesn't  mean  to  be  unkind." 


128 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  growing  conviction  of  her  own  folly 
haunted  Jane  even  in  her  belated  dreams,  in 
which  she  found  herself  once  more  in  the  pleas- 
ant English  schoolroom  superintending  her  two 
small  cousins  in  their  youthful  efforts  to  com- 
prehend the  fundamental  principles  of  good  con- 
duct. "  You  should  always  be  considerate  to 
those  beneath  you,  Percy,"  she  seemed  to  be 
saying,  "  and  help  them  whenever  you  can." 
Then  she  had  quoted  the  grand  old  motto  of 
the  French  aristocracy,  "  noblesse  oblige,"  ex- 
plaining how  one's  superiority  in  any  particular 
only  added  to  one's  obligation  to  those  less 
fortunate. 

It  was  hard  to  awaken  from  this  dream  to 

find  the  rain  beating  heavily  upon  the  roof  of 

Mrs.  Belknap's  trunkroom,  and  to  realize,  from 

an   inspection  of  the   loud-voiced  nickel  clock 

129 


Truthful     Jane 

which  she  had  been  told  to  take  upstairs,  that 
she  was  very  late  indeed. 

Mrs.  Belknap  was  engaged  in  preparing 
breakfast  as  expeditiously  as  was  possible  with 
her  child  hanging  about  her  skirts  and  clamor- 
ing for  his  food.  She  bestowed  an  impatient 
glance  upon  Jane  as  she  entered  the  kitchen, 
which  had  the  effect  of  dispelling  that  young 
person's  contrition  as  effectually  as  one  of  Lady 
Agatha's  ill-timed  reproaches. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  late,"  said  Jane  stiffly. 

Mrs.  Belknap  did  not  reply.  At  the  moment 
she  was  adding  boiling  water  to  the  coffee  pot, 
and  stirring  its  contents  wi'th  a  long-handled 
spoon. 

Jane  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  She's  an 
ill-bred  person,"  she  told  herself  resentfully. 
"  Shall  I  lay  the  table,  madam?  "  she  ventured, 
after  an  uncomfortable  silence,  during  which  she 
watched  her  young  mistress's  deft  motions  with 
dismayed  interest. 

"  That  is  already  done,"  replied  Mrs.  Bel- 
knap, turning  her  pretty,  flushed  face  upon 
130 


Truthful     Jane 

Jane.  "  I  believe  I  told  you  last  night  that  Mr. 
Belknap  and  Mr.  Everett  were  obliged  to  leave 
for  the  city  on  the  half-past  seven  car.  You 
should  have  been  down  an  hour  ago.  I  never 
call  a  servant,"  she  added  severely. 

Jane  swallowed  hard.  Then  noblesse  oblige 
recurred  to  her  mind.  "  You  did  tell  me,"  she 
said,  very  gently,  "  and  I  am  sorry  I  overslept. 
I  will  try  not  to  do  that  again.  Shall  I  give 
Master  Buster  his  breakfast,  ma'am?" 

A  variety  of  expressions  passed  in  rapid  suc- 

% 

cession  over  Mrs.  Belknap's  mobile  face,  aston- 
ishment, pleasure,  and  a  subdued  twinkle  of  fun 
shone  in  her  eyes  as  she  again  turned  to 
Jane.  "Why,  yes;  you  may — if  he  will  go 
with  you." 

A  fleeting  sense  of  wonder  at  this  unchanging 
attitude  of  subserviency  toward  the  infant  per- 
vaded Jane's  English  mind.  Then  she  stooped 
toward  the  child.  "  If  you  will  come  with  me, 
Master  Buster,  I  will  give  you  your  breakfast." 

The  child  stared  at  her  thoughtfully ;  then  to 
his  mother's  manifest  astonishment  he  accepted 


Truthful    Jane 

the  invitation.  "  I  will  do  wiv  oo,"  he  said, 
with  immense  condescension. 

Mrs.  Belknap  heaved  a  thankful  sigh. 
"  How  sweet  of  the  darling!  "  she  murmured. 
"  Here  is  his  breakfast  food,  Jane.  He  likes 
it  with  cream  and  sugar.  You  may  give  him  the 
juice  of  half  an  orange  and  two  slices  of  this 
whole  wheat  bread  toasted,  with  butter.  He 
will  breakfast  with  us  this  morning." 

As  Jane,  in  her  frilled  cap  and  white  apron, 
bearing  a  tray,  entered  the  dining  room  she  en- 
countered Mr.  John  Everett.  He  looked  at 
her  inquiringly.  "  Good  morning,"  he  said 
cheerfully. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  replied  Jane  unsmil- 
ingly,  then  blushed  angrily  to  find  herself 
blushing.  "  He  is  very  rude  to  notice  a  servant 
so  particularly,"  she  told  herself.  Then  her 
curiosity  got  the  better  of  her,  and  she  stole  a 
second  glance  at  him.  Mr.  Everett  was  appar- 
ently quite  absorbed  in  his  paper  at  the  moment, 
and  Jane  had  ample  opportunity  to  observe  the 
fine,  strong  lines  of  his  clean-shaven  face.  He 
132 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

was  undeniably  handsome,  Jane  was  forced  to 
admit,  and  he  looked  kind  and  sensible. 

The  small  boy  known  as  Buster  now  appeared, 
borne  high  aloft  in  his  tall  father's  arms,  and 
presently  the  entire  family  was  seated  at  the 
table. 

Jane  hated  herself  anew  as  she  waited  by  her 
mistress's  chair  to  pass  the  cups  of  coffee  on  her 
little  tray.  Try  as  she  would  she  could  not  rid 
herself  of  the  vision  of  Lady  Agatha's  scornful 
eyes,  while  Reginald  and  Gwendolen  seemed 
quietly  to  mock  her  from  across  the  sea.  In  an 
interval  of  absence  from  the  dining  room,  in 
quest  of  fresh  toast,  she  caught  a  trill  of  low 
laughter;  then  Mrs.  Belknap's  carrying  voice 
— "Really  quite  impressive,  isn't  she?  But  I 
fear  she's  bound  to  be  more  ornamental  than 
useful." 

Jane's  indignant  blushes  betrayed  her  to  at 
least  one  pair  of  eyes  when  she  reentered  the 
dining  room,  and  Mr.  John  Everett  plainly 
looked  his  displeasure  at  his  pretty  sister,  who 
was  still  exchanging  smiles  with  her  husband. 
133 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

"  How  would  you  like  it,  sis?  "  Jane  heard 
him  ask  pointedly,  as  the  two  men  were  putting 
on  their  coats  in  the  front  hall. 

"  How  do  I  like  it,  you  mean,  Jack.  Well, 
I  only  hope  you'll  find  me  alive  to-night,"  Mrs. 
Belknap  had  replied.  Then  she  came  out  airily 
to  the  kitchen,  where  Jane  was  awkwardly  gath- 
ering the  breakfast  things  preparatory  to  wash- 
ing them. 

"  Now,  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Belknap,  producing 
a  leather-covered  account  book,  with  a  pretty  air 
of  importance,  "  I  must  have  a  little  talk  with 
you.  What  is  your  full  name,  please?  " 

"  Jane  Evelyn  Aubrey-Blythe,"  replied  Jane 
distinctly.  "  My  nobleness  obliges  me  to  be 
truthful  and  polite,"  she  thought. 

Mrs.  Belknap  was  surveying  her  with  an 
incredulous  smile.  "  Not  really  ?  "  she  said. 
"  You  found  that  name  in  a  novel,  didn't 
you?" 

"  No,  madam,"  said  Jane  coldly,  "  that  is 
my  full  name." 

"  Where  did  you  work  before  you  came  to 
134 


Truthful    Jane 

me?  "  went  on  Mrs.  Belknap,  with  a  pause  of 
her  busy  pencil. 

Jane  hesitated. 

Mrs.  Belknap's  clear  eyes  demanded  instant 
answer,  somewhat  after  the  manner  of  a  magis- 
trate conducting  a  legal  examination.  Master 
Belknap,  who  was  leaning  upon  his  mother's 
knee  in  a  complacently  postprandial  state,  also 
centered  his  direct  gaze  upon  the  girl's  face. 

"  I — worked,  that  is,  I  was  last  employed  by 
a — Mrs.  Markle  or — Madam  Melbrun,"  fal- 
tered Jane,  loudly  clashing  the  cups  in  her  con- 
fusion. 

"  Be  careful  not  to  break  the  china,  Jane," 
advised  Mrs.  Belknap,  with  housewifely  care. 
"  In  what  capacity  were  you  employed  by  this 
Mrs.  or  Madam — what  was  the  name?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  confessed  Jane,  with  des- 
perate frankness.  "  She  told  me  her  name  was 
Markle;  afterwards  she  said  it  was  Melbrun." 

Mrs.  Belknap  shook  her  head,  as  she  again 
glanced  seriously  at  the  name  with  which  she 
had  just  headed  the  clear,  new  page  in  her  book 
13* 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

of  accounts.  "  I  cannot  understand,"  she  said 
strongly,  "  why  people  should  lie  about  their 
names,  or,  indeed,  about  anything.  It  is  so 
much  more  sensible  to  tell  the  truth.  That  is 
what  I  often  tell  Mary:  *  Do  tell  me  the  truth, 
Mary,'  I  say  to  her.  But  I  fear  she  never  does." 

"What,  never?"  exclaimed  Jane,  uncon- 
sciously plagiarizing  from  a  comic  opera. 

"  It  is  a  habit,  I  fear,"  said  Mrs.  Belknap  in 
a  depressed  tone,  "telling  falsehoods,  I  mean; 
some  persons  tell  them  when  they  might  just  as 
well  tell  the  truth,  even  from  their  own  stand- 
point. Of  course,"  she  added  hastily,  "  it  is  al- 
ways right  and  best  to  tell  the  exact  truth.  I 
hope,  Jane,  that  you  are  a  truthful  girl.  You 
will  get  on  much  better  with  me  if  you  are. 
Now  what  did  you  do  for  this  person  for  whom 
you  last  worked?  " 

"  I  smuggled,"  said  Jane  shortly. 

"You— what!" 

"Smuggled,"  repeated  Jane;  "I  smuggled 
lace — five  thousand  dollars  worth,  the  man  said. 
Mrs.  Markle  sewed  it  in  my  jacket  between  the 
136 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

lining  and  the  outside.  But  they  found  it  and 
took  it  away." 

Mrs.  Belknap  looked  actually  frightened  for 
a  minute.  "  I — I  don't  believe  it,"  she  mur- 
mured weakly. 

"  I  didn't  know  Mrs.  Markle  put  the  lace 
there,"  Jane  went  on  firmly.  "  She  gave  me  a 
beautiful  fur  coat  to  wear  on  the  ship,  and  asked 
me  to  leave  my  jacket  in  her  stateroom.  She 
sewed  the  lace  in  the  jacket  during  the  voyage." 

1  You  look  like  a  truthful  girl,"  jnused  Mrs. 
Belknap.  "  But —  Then  you  have  just  come 
to  America,"  she  added  shrewdly,  "  and  you 
have  no  references,  of  course?  " 

"  No,  Mrs.  Belknap ;  I  have  not,"  replied 
Jane,  expecting  no  less  than  an  instant  dismissal 
after  this  damaging  statement. 

To  her  great  surprise  the  lady  closed  her  book 
with  a  slight  shrug  of  her  shapely  shoulders. 
"  The  matter  of  wages  we  discussed  last  night," 
she  said  tentatively.  "  Now  I  am  expecting  Mrs. 
Whittaker  to  wash  this  morning;  you  will  put 
the  kitchen  to  rights  as  quickly  as  you  can.  And 

137 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

remember,  Jane,  that  although  you  have  no  ref- 
erences I  shall  soon  be  able  to  find  out  just  what 
sort  of  a  girl  you  are.  I  am  not  easily  deceived." 

This  improving  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  the  arrival  at  the  back  door  of  a  tall,  thin, 
dyspeptic-looking  person  attired  in  a  rusty  black 
gown  and  a  dispirited  hat,  both  of  which  articles 
of  attire  had  obviously  seen  better  days. 

"  Good  mornin',  Mis'  Belknap,"  began  this 
individual,  with  a  trenchant  sniff,  as  she  divested 
herself  of  her  draggled  black  skirt,  which  was 
thus  revealed  as  a  sort  of  drop  curtain  conceal- 
ing a  scant  gingham  wrapper  beneath,  girt  about 
the  waist  with  a  decent  checkered  apron. 

Mrs.  Belknap  displayed  her  white  teeth  in  a 
winning  smile  as  she  replied.  "  And  this  is  my 
new  maid,  Jane  Blythe,"  she  added,  indicating 
that  young  person  with  an  affable  gesture. 

"  My  I  you  ain't  tellin'  me  that  Mary  Mac- 
Grotty's  left  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Whittaker 
in  a  sympathizing  tone;  "  as  good  an'  kind  as 
you've  be'n  to  her!  I  sh'd  think  she'd  be 
'shamed  to  treat  you  so  mean.  As  I  says  to  m' 
138 


Truthful     Jane 

'usband  this  mornin',  '  Mary  MacGrotty,'  I  says, 
*  don't  know  when  she's  well  off,  a-livin'  with 
that  sweet  young  lady.' ' 

"  I  expect  Mary  back  within  a  few  days," 
Mrs.  Belknap  said  guardedly.  "  She's  away  just 
now." 

Mrs.  Whittaker  bent  over  the  tubs  with  a 
deep,  discouraged  sigh.  "  M'  back's  mos'  broke 
this  mornin',"  she  observed,  flapping  a  wet  sheet 
on  the  board  and  lathering  it  freely  with  soap; 
"  but  what  with  five  childern  to  work  fer,  an'  m' 
'usband  out  o'  work  since  Christmas,  it  comes 
pretty  hard  on  a  body.  Was  you  expectin'  to 
stay  right  along  ?  " 

"  Were  you  speaking  to  me  ?  "  asked  Jane 
coldly. 

Mrs.  Whittaker  cast  a  guarded  glance  about 
the  kitchen.  "  She's  gone;  ain't  she?  She  ain't 
plannin'  to  keep  two,  is  she?  " 

Jane  made  no  reply.     Mrs.  Whittaker  gazed 

at   her   for   a   moment  with   her  soapy   arms 

akimbo.      '  You  won't  like  it  here,"  she  said  at 

last.      "  I   c'n  see   that  without   ha'f   lookin'. 

139 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

She's  turrible  to  work  fur.  I  couldn't  stan'  her 
— more'n  fur  a  day  now  an1  then.  As  I  tell  m' 
'usband,  I  wasn't  made  to  be  bossed  by  nobody. 
I'm  awful  proud  an'  independent,  an'  she  thinks 
she's  the  hull  thing.  I  guess  if  she  knew  all  'at 
I  know  'bout  the  goin's  on  in  this  'ere  kitchen 
she  wouldn't  be  quite  so  uppity." 

A  light  step  at  the  door  announced  the  hasty 
return  of  Mrs.  Belknap;  Mrs.  Whittaker  was 
discovered  diligently  rubbing,  with  a  sad,  but 
resigned,  expression  of  countenance. 

"  I  brought  down  this  embroidered  shirt-waist 
for  you  to  wash,  Mrs.  Whittaker,  and  will  you 
please  be  careful  not  to  rub  the  embroidery  on 
the  board ;  it  isn't  much  soiled,  you  see ;  a  little 
of  this  white  soap  will  be  best  for  the  flannels 
and  for  all  these  fine  white  things.  By  the  way, 
you  haven't  put  any  of  that  washing  powder  into 
the  water,  have  you  ?  I  buy  that  for  the  floors 
and  tables ;  Mary  thinks  she  can't  get  along  with- 
out it.  But  it  is  very  bad  for  the  clothes." 

Mrs.  Whittaker  received  the  garment  in 
question  with  an  air  of  lofty  unconcern.  "  I  wuz 
140 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

never  known  to  put  that  nasty  yellow  stuff  in 
m'  clo'es,"  she  said  haughtily.  "  I  sh'd  think 
you'd  know  me  well  'nough  by  this  time  to  be 
sure  o'  that,  Mis'  Belknap.  You  don't  need  to 
worry  about  nothin'  when  I'm  in  the  kitchen." 

"  I  know  you're  very  careful,  Mrs.  Whit- 
taker,"  the  young  mistress  of  the  house  made 
haste  to  assure  her. 

"  I  'ope  she'll  keep  out  the  kitchen  the  rest 
of  the  day,"  Mrs.  Whittaker  observed  acridly,  as 
the  door  closed  on  Mrs.  Belknap's  retreating 
figure.  "  The  simple  idee  of  her  teaching  me 
how  to  wash!  No  washin'  powder,  indeed! 
Well,  I  guess  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  rub  m'  fingers  to 
the  bone  fur  her!  That  there  white  soap  ain't 
worth  shucks.  But  I'll  take  it  'ome  with  me; 
it'll  do  to  wash  the  childern  with." 

Mrs.  Whittaker  sighed  deeply  as  she  crossed 
the  floor  with  the  cake  of  white  soap.  "  I'll  just 
leave  it  in  m'  pocket,"  she  said.  "  Is  there  a 
drop  of  tea  in  that  pot?  No?  Well,  I'll  make 
me  a  cup,  I  guess.  My !  I  feel  s'  kind  o'  weak 
an'  gone  at  the  pit  o'  my  stomick  this  mornin', 
10  141 


Truthful     Jane 

as  I  wuz  tellin'  m'  'usband :  '  I  guess  I'll  have  to 
take  it  's  easy  's  I  can  to-day,'  I  says.  An'  'e 
says,  '  Do,'  'e  says,  '  an'  come  home  's  early  's 
you  can,  Maria.'  No;  you  won't  be  in  this  place 
long.  You  won't  like  it.  Me  an'  Mary  gits 
along  pretty  fair;  but  she  won't  stan'  another 
girl  around.  Many's  the  time  she's  said  so  to 
me,  right  in  this  kitchen." 

Jane  hastily  hung  up  the  tea  towels;  her  ears 
were  burning  under  the  loose  waves  of  her  hair. 

"  I'll  help  m'self  to  what  I  want  to  eat,"  Mrs. 
Whittaker  was  saying  amiably;  "  I  know  where 
everythin'  is,  an'  you  don't  need  to  stay  'round 
here  on  my  account.  If  you  was  wantin'  to 
change  yer  place  when  your  week's  out  I  know  a 
real  nice  woman  down  the  street  'at  ain't  got  a 
girl.  I  promised  her  yeste'd'y  'at  I'd  inquire 
'round.  I'd  like  to  'commodate  her;  her  young- 
est girl's  clo'es  just  fits  my  Edie  May.  She's  a 
nice  woman  to  work  for,  too;  she  ain't  always 
a-snoopin'  'round  like  some  other  folks  I  know 
of." 

Mrs.  Whittaker  paused  to  empty  a  liberal 
142 


Truthful     Jane 

shower  of  the  tabooed  washing  compound  into 
the  boiler  which  was  beginning  to  steam  upon 
the  range;  then  she  rummaged  in  the  pocket  of 
her  gown  with  an  abstracted  air.  "  Gracious !  I 
'ope  I  didn't  leave  that  washin'  soda  to  home. 
No;  'ere  it  is." 

Jane  observed  Mrs.  Whittaker's  movements 
with  astonished  interest  as  she  proceeded  to  cast 
certain  large  fragments  of  a  whitish  substance 
after  the  washing  powder.  "  Washin'  soda's  m' 
best  friend,  as  I  tell  my  'usband  frequent.  I  most 
always  carry  some  with  me.  Most  the  women  I 
work  for  can't  abide  it;  but  it  takes  the  dirt  out, 
an'  it  saves  m'  back.  I  don't  ask  'em  to  buy  it, 
an'  's  long  's  I  furnish  it  m'self  I  say  it's  none  o' 
their  business.  Mind,  you  don't  say  nothin'  to 
her  'bout  my  puttin'  washin'  soda  in  the  boiler ! 
But  I  guess  you  ain't  that  kind  nohow,  as  I  was 
sayin'- " 

Jane  hurriedly  fled,  the  woman's  whining  voice 
sounding  in  her  ears. 


143 


CHAPTER    IX 

"  Now,  Jane,"  Mrs.  Belknap  observed  pleas- 
antly, "  you  may  put  the  chambers  and  bath- 
room in  nice  order;  and  then  you  may  sweep  the 
stairs,  the  hall,  and  the  front  piazza.  As  a  rule 
I  should  like  to  have  all  that  attended  to  before 
breakfast.  When  Mary  returns  I  will  prepare  a 
schedule  of  your  work  carefully  arranged  for  the 
different  days,  so  that  there  can  be  no  possible 
misunderstanding  with  regard  to  it.  Aren't  you 
feeling  well  ?  "  she  added,  with  severe  kindness, 
as  she  eyed  Jane's  proud  little  face  which  too 
plainly  betrayed  the  wakeful  hours  of  the  previ- 
ous night  and  the  heavy,  unrefreshing  slumber 
of  the  early  morning.  "  I  hope  you  are  not 
delicate." 

Jane  straightened  her  slim  figure.  '  Thank 
you,  Mrs.  Belknap,  I  am  feeling  quite  well,"  she 
replied  coldly. 

144 


Truth  ful     Jane 

"Very  well,  then;  you  will  find  the  brushes 
and  dusters  in  this  closet,  and  I  should  like 
you  to  be  careful  to  keep  them  in  their  place. 
— Dear  me !  I  wonder  what  that  child  can  be 
doing?" 

The  sound  of  running  water  and  the  tinkle  of 
broken  glass  reached  their  ears  from  an  adjoin- 
ing room.  "  Oh,  you  naughty  boy !  What  will 
mother  do  with  you !  " 

"  I  was  dest  cweanin'  my  teef,  muzzer,  an'  I 
dwopped  'e'  gwass,  an'  it  —  b-w-owke\"  ex- 
plained the  small  boy  earnestly.  "  An'  all  V 
toof-powder  'pilled  on  V  floor!  It's  nice  an' 
s-w-e-et,  muzzer!  I  like  toof-powder." 

"  Oh,  Buster  Belknap,  you  haven't  been  eating 
tooth-powder?  " 

"  I  cweaned  my  teef,  an  I  dwopped  V  gwass, 
an'  I " 

Further  explanations  were  rendered  impossible 
by  Mrs.  Belknap's  prompt  and  heroic  measures. 
The  naughty  pink  mouth  was  forced  open  and 
rapidly  explored  by  maternal  eyes  and  fingers, 
while  Jane  was  required  to  fetch  in  rapid  suc- 

H5 


Truthful     Jane 

cession  a  glass  of  water,  a  clean  towel,  and  a 
fresh  pinafore. 

During  the  process  the  small  boy  screamed 
and  struggled  manfully  if  ineffectually;  but 
once  washed,  dried,  and  freshly  arrayed  he 
pranced  gayly  away,  his  countenance  composed 
and  cheerful. 

Jane  was  by  this  time  busily  engaged  in  sweep- 
ing the  front  stairs,  while  she  wondered  miser- 
ably if  any  girl  in  the  whole  world  could  be  so 
unhappy  and  friendless  as  herself.  She  wished 
gloomily  that  she  had  not  run  away  from  Port- 
land Square.  She  condemned  herself  bitterly  for 
the  pride  and  vainglory  of  her  hasty  actions,  and 
with  it  all  wave  after  wave  of  desperate  home- 
sickness surged  over  her  young  soul.  It  was 
scarcely  to  be  wondered  at  that  dust  accumulated 
in  dark  nooks  and  corners  should  escape  the  no- 
tice of  the  tear-blurred  hazel  eyes,  nor  that  the 
unswept  rugs  should  be  thoughtlessly  pushed  to 
one  side. 

She  was  suddenly  recalled  to  a  sense  of  these 
shortcomings  by  Mrs.  Belknap's  crisp,  American 
146 


Truthful     Jane 

voice.  "Why,  Jane  I  You  are  not  doing  this 
work  at  all  properly.  One  would  think  it  was 
your  first  experience  in  sweeping!  " 

"  It  is,  ma'am,"  said  Jane  hopelessly. 

"  Dear  me !  I'm  afraid  this  will  never  do," 
went  on  Mrs.  Belknap,  with  a  discouraged  sigh. 
"  Can't  you  see  the  dirt?  Here,  let  me  show 
you !  " 

Jane  stared  at  the  faultless  demonstration  of 
housewifely  skill  with  sullen  resentment.  In  her 
own  eyes  she  seemed  to  have  sunken  to  a  plane 
infinitely  beneath  that  occupied  by  Susan,  the 
housemaid  in  the  Portland  Square  mansion. 
Susan,  at  least,  knew  how  to  do  her  work 
thoroughly  and  well. 

"  Now,  Jane,  will  you  try  again  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Belknap,  pleasantly  conscious  of  a  most  praise- 
worthy patience  and  self-control.  "  I  am  sure 
you  can  sweep  down  these  stairs  properly,  if  you 
try,  and  if  you  will  put  your  mind  upon  what  you 
are  doing.  Then  these  rugs — I  think  I  told  you 
to  take  them  out  of  doors  to  brush.  They  are 
quite  filled  with  dust  and  germs,  I  dare  say." 

147 


Truthful     Jane 

Mrs.  Belknap  appeared  to  expect  some  sort  of 
reply  to  this  serious  arraignment,  for  she  eyed 
Jane  searchingly. 

"  You  didn't  mention  the  rugs,  ma'am,"  said 
poor  Jane,  with  an  uncontrollable  quiver  of  her 
mutinous  mouth;  "  but  I  will  take  them  out,  if 
you  would  like  me  to." 

As  she  bore  her  burden  through  the  kitchen 
Mrs.  Whittaker  suspended  her  monotonous  la- 
bors to  remark:  "  My!  /  wouldn't  stir  a  foot  to 
clean  them  rugs,  if  I  was  you.  That's  man's 
work.  Mis'  Radford — her  'at  I  was  tellin'  you 
wanted  a  girl  —  hires  a  man  to  clean  the 
rugs  every  Thursday.  'Tain't  no  more'n  right, 
neither  1  " 

The  sun  was  shining  cheerfully  out  of  doors, 
and  a  brisk  wind  was  hurrying  the  big,  white 
clouds  across  the  April  sky.  In  spite  of  herself 
the  clean,  wholesome  air  and  active  exercise  re- 
stored Jane's  spirits.  "  I'll  soon  earn  enough 
money  to  pay  my  passage  back  to  England,"  she 
told  herself,  "  and  then — I  can  easily  get  a  place 
as  governess  somewhere." 
148 


Truthful    Jane 

The  capricious  breeze  whipped  her  brown  hair 
in  clouds  across  her  eyes,  quite  blinding  her  to 
the  approach  of  the  stout,  rubicund,  showily 
dressed  person  who  paused  to  stare  curiously  at 
Jane  before  entering  the  kitchen  door. 

This  individual  was  discovered  in  close  con- 
sultation with  Mrs.  Whittaker  as  Jane  passed 
through  the  kitchen. 

"  That's  what  I  toP  'er,"  the  laundress  was 
remarking  plaintively,  as  she  passed  a  succes- 
sion of  dripping  articles  through  the  wringer, 
"  Mary  won't  never  stan'  another  girl  in  'er 
kitchen,  I  says,  an'  it'll  likely  lose  me  a  day  a 
week  besides.  It  ain't  right  to  take  the  bread 
out  o'  my  pore  childern's  mouths  to  put  into 
hern;  that  it  ain't!  " 

Mrs.  Belknap  was  investing  her  child  in  coat 
and  cap,  with  a  somewhat  worried  expression  on 
her  pretty  face,  as  Jane  reentered  the  hall. 
"  Please  don't  talk  to  Mrs.  Whittaker  any  more 
than  you  can  help,  Jane,"  she  said  seriously.  "  I 
think  it  hinders  her  in  her  work." 

"  I  haven't  spoken  to  the  woman,  ma'am,"  re- 
149 


Truthful     Jane 

plied  Jane,  justly  indignant.  "  I  can't  help  it  if 
she  talks  to  me ;  but  I'm  sure  I'm  not  interested 
in  what  she  says." 

"  You  shouldn't  answer  me  in  that  tone, 
Jane,"  advised  Mrs.  Belknap  warmly.  "  Oh,  I 
do  believe  Mary  has  come  back!  " 

"  Yis,  mum;  I've  come  back;  but  I  ain't  sure 
as  I'll  stay,"  announced  a  rich  Irish  voice  from 
the  door. 

"O  Mary  I  where  have  you  been?  I  didn't 
know  what  to  think  when  I  found  you  were  gone 
again." 

14  Well,  mum,  you  hadn't  no  more'n  turned  the 
corner  before  the  telephone  bell  rang.  It  was 
me  cousin  in  Tompkinsville.  '  O  Mary  Mac- 
Grotty,'  she  says,  whin  she  heard  my  voice, 
'  Aunt  Bridget's  tuk  awful  bad,'  she  says;  '  you 
must  come  to  wanst!  '  '  I'll  come,'  I  says,  '  an' 
stay  wid  yez  just  wan  hour]  I've  me  dinner  to 
get,'  I  says,  '  an'  me  leddy's  out.'  But  whin  I 
got  to  me  cousin's  house  I  found  me  aunt  in 
strong  convulsions.  '  Sure,  an'  you  won't  have 
the  heart  to  lave  'er  like  this,'  they  all  says  to 
150 


Truthful     Jane 

me ;  an'  so  I  stayed  the  night.  She's  some  better 
this  mornin',  the  saints  be  praised;  but  I  guess 
I'll  be  goin'  back,  as  I  see  you've  help  a-plinty." 

"  O  Mary !  "  Mrs.  Belknap  said  earnestly, 
"  I  want  you  to  stay.  I've  hired  Jane  to  help  me 
with  Buster,  and  she'll  wait  at  table  besides  and 
do  the  upstairs  sweeping.  You'll  find  it  much 
easier." 

Miss  MacGrotty  folded  her  fat  arms  and  sur- 
veyed Jane  with  coldly  critical  eyes.  "  If  I'd  a 
known  you  was  wantin'  a  sicond  gurl,  I  cud  'a' 
got  you  my  niece — me  brother's  youngest  daugh- 
ter, Annie.  She's  a  lovely  worker  an'  used  to 
childern.  Where  did  you  git  the  loikes  o'  her" 
she  added,  with  a  scornful  toss  of  her  plumed 
head. 

"  From  an  agency  in  New  York,"  replied 
Mrs.  Belknap,  with  a  conciliatory  mildness  of  de- 
meanor which  astonished  Jane.  "  I  think  you'll 
find  Jane  a  pleasant  help  and  companion,  and 
Jane,  I  hope  you'll  get  along  nicely  with  Mary. 
And  now  that  you've  finished  laying  down  the 
rugs,  Jane,  won't  you  put  on  your  hat  and  go 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

out  with  Buster.  He's  in  the  side  yard;  but  I 
fear  he'll  run  away  if  he's  left  to  himself  too 
long." 

When  Jane  came  down  from  her  attic  room 
attired  for  the  street  Mrs.  Belknap  stopped  her 
to  say  pointedly:  "  You've  forgotten  your  apron, 
Jane;  you'll  find  a  clean  one  in  the  top  drawer  of 
the  dining-room  closet." 

Poor  Jane  was  quite  unaware  of  the  subtle 
psychological  processes  which  contributed  to  her 
feeling  of  loathing  for  that  innocent  and  spotless 
article  of  attire.  But  the  apron  appeared  to  be 
the  last  straw  added  to  the  already  intolerable 
burden  of  her  acute  discomfort.  Her  pretty  face 
was  clouded  and  gloomy  as  she  walked  slowly 
across  the  muddy  road  in  pursuit  of  the  brilliant 
red  tarn  perched  on  Master  Belknap's  curly 
head. 

Mrs.  Belknap,  watching  from  an  upper  win- 
dow, frowned  and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I 
don't  know  whether  it  will  pay  to  bother  with 
that  girl,"  she  murmured.  "  I'm  sure  I  haven't 
experienced  a  peaceful  moment  since  she  came, 
152 


Truthful     Jane 

so  far;  but  perhaps  I  can  train  her  if  I  am 
patient." 

The  training  process  presently  called  for  a 
fresh  rebuke,  with  copious  explanatory  notes  and 
commentaries,  when  Jane  returned  to  the  house 
half  an  hour  later  bearing  Master  Belknap,  who 
was  screaming  and  kicking  with  all  the  pent-up 
energy  of  a  young  cyclone. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Buster,  Jane  ?  "  de- 
manded his  mother  excitedly,  as  she  ran  hastily 
down  the  front  stairs  to  receive  the  two. 

"  He  wanted  to  play  in  the  muddy  water  with 
another  little  boy  named  Buster  Bliss,"  replied 
Jane,  quite  breathless  with  her  exertions;  "  and 
when  I  asked  him  not  to  get  wet,  he  threw  mud 
at  me  and  at  the  other  child ;  then  I  thought  best 
to  bring  him  home." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  like  him  to  play  with  that  Bliss 
child  at  all;  he's  a  very  rude  boy!  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Belknap.  "  I  meant  to  have  told  you  about 
that,  Jane.  Stop  crying,  darling,  and  let  mother 
wipe  your  tears — poor  little  sweetheart;  his 
hands  are  as  cold  as  ice,  and — why,  Jane,  his 
153 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

sleeves  are  wringing  wet,  and  covered  with  mud; 
and  his  feet,  too !  dear,  dear  \  " 

'  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Jane,  "  he  would  play  in 
the  water;  that  is  why  I  carried  him  home.  He 
sat  right  down  in  the  mud,  ma'am." 

"But  why  did  you  allow  it?  Really,  Jane, 
I  can  see  that  you  are  not  at  all  used  to  children. 
Have  you  ever  had  the  care  of  one  before  ?  One 
has  to  manage,  you  know." 

Jane  made  no  reply.  And  Mrs.  Belknap  did 
not  seem  to  notice  the  omission  in  the  strenu- 
ous process  of  rehabilitation  which  immediately 
ensued. 

Jane  stood  meekly  by,  supplying  the  needful 
articles  one  by  one.  When  all  was  over  and  the 
child  released  from  his  mother's  fond  arms,  with 
a  rapturous  kiss,  she  ventured  upon  a  single 
question. 

"  When  Master  Buster  says  he  *  won't '  what 
am  I  to  do,  ma'am?  " 

Mrs.  Belknap  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with 
a  far-away  look  in  her  bright  eyes.     Finally  she 
replied :  "  You  must  contrive  not  to  have  him  say 
154 


Truthful     Jane 

'  won't '  to  you,  Jane.  It  requires  infinite  tact 
and  patience  to  care  for  a  high-spirited  child  like 
Buster.  Of  course,  I  could  not  allow  you  to  pun- 
ish him  in  any  way.  I  do  not  believe  in  corporal 
punishment;  and  even  if  I  approved  of  it,  I 
should  never  relegate  it  to  other  hands." 

"  And  about  the  other  children,  ma'am;  I  no- 
ticed several  in  the  neighborhood  while  I  was  out. 
There  was  another  very  rude  child  named  Buster 
Yates — at  least  the  little  girl  who  was  with  him 
said  so — I  couldn't  help  wondering " 

"  About  what,  Jane?  "  asked  Mrs.  Belknap  in- 
dulgently. "  I  suppose  everything  in  America  is 
quite  new  and  strange  to  you,"  she  added  rather 
proudly;  "I  shall  always  be  glad  to  explain 
what  you  do  not  understand." 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  why  so  many 
little  boys  in  America  are  called — Buster?  It's 
a  very  curious  name.  I  never  heard  it  in  Eng- 
land." 

Mrs.  Belknap  laughed  heartily.  "  That's 
very  easily  explained,"  she  said.  "  It  is  really 
a  nickname  taken  from  a  series  of  humorous  pic- 
155 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

tures  in  one  of  the  newspapers.  Quite  possibly 
people  are  overdoing  it,"  she  added  meditatively. 

Jane  looked  mystified. 

"  Our  Buster's  name  is  really  Everett  Living- 
stone, and  the  Bliss  child  is  Ralph,  I  believe;  and 
Mrs.  Yates's  little  boy  is  named  Frederick.  The 
Caldwells  call  their  Arthur  '  Buster,'  and  in  town 
the  Elwells  and  the  Parleys  and — yes,  ever  so 
many  others  have  '  Busters.'  It  must  have  struck 
you  as  being  very  singular." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Belknap,"  said  Jane  pointedly. 
"  It  did." 

As  John  Everett  was  returning  from  the  city 
that  night,  and  many  nights  thereafter,  he  found 
himself  dwelling  with  singular  intentness  on  the 
piquant  face  of  his  sister's  English  maid;  it 
seemed  to  look  out  at  him  wistfully  from  the 
damp  folds  of  his  evening  paper,  and  to  haunt 
the  twilight  seclusion  of  the  ferryboat  deck  upon 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  tramp  many  a 
breezy  mile  in  his  daily  trips  across  New  York's 
spacious  harbor. 

John  Everett  was  a  graduate  of  Yale  and  a 
156 


Truthful     Jane 

budding  lawyer,  employed  in  a  down-town  law 
office.  He  had  unhesitatingly  expended  every 
cent  of  a  slender  patrimony  in  obtaining  his  edu- 
cation, and  at  present  was  in  the  hopeful  position 
of  a  strong  swimmer  striking  out  unhampered 
for  a  distant  shore.  He  fully  expected  to  reach 
that  shore — some  time ;  but  a  man  swimming  for 
his  life  in  the  deep  and  perilous  current  of  an 
untried  profession  has  no  business  to  dwell  upon 
the  alluring  vision  of  any  woman's  face.  That 
the  woman  of  his  shy  boyhood  dreams  was  wait- 
ing for  him  on  that  far-off  shore,  he  felt  reason- 
ably sure ;  but  even  this  conviction  could  not  pre- 
vent him  from  feeling  sorry  for  Jane.  She  was 
struggling  in  deep  water,  too,  and  would  she — 
could  she  reach  the  shore  in  safety,  unless  some 
one 

"  I  am  a  fool!  "  John  Everett  told  himself 
vigorously,  and  squared  his  broad  shoulders  to 
the  bracing  ocean  wind,  which  blew  damp  and 
salt  from  the  vasty  deeps  outside  the  Hook. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  came  upon  Jane  at  the 
corner,  whither  she  had  been  sent  to  post  a  letter. 
11  157 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

There  were  half-dried  tears  sparkling  upon  her 
long  lashes,  and  her  mouth  drooped  pathetically 
at  the  corners. 

"What  is  the  trouble,  Jane?"  he  couldn't 
help  asking ;  his  blue  eyes  said  more. 

Jane  ignored  both.  "  There  is  nothing  the 
matter,  sir,"  she  said  icily,  and  drew  back  to  let 
him  pass. 


158 


CHAPTER    X 

MORE  than  a  fortnight  had  passed  and  Jane 
was  still  engaged  in  "  doing  second  work  "  in  the 
modest  detached  villa,  otherwise  known  as  the 
residence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  Livingstone 
Belknap.  Toward  the  end  of  her  first  week  of 
service  she  had  received  a  letter  from  her  good 
friend,  Bertha  Forbes,  urging  her  to  return  to 
England  at  once  in  the  company  of  an-  acquaint- 
ance who  was  to  be  sent  across  on  customhouse 
business.  "  I  will  arrange  for  the  transporta- 
tion," added  Miss  Forbes  generously;  "I  want 
to  feel  that  you  are  safe  at  home  with  your  fam- 
ily once  more." 

Jane  read  this  letter  at  the  close  of  a  peculiarly 
trying  day,  in  which  she  had  encountered  divers 
rapids  and  cross  currents  in  both  kitchen  and  par- 
lor. Mary  MacGrotty  was  downright  cross, 
Master  Belknap  peculiarly  and  aggravatingly 

159 


Truthful     Jane 

mischievous,  and  Mrs.  Belknap,  grievously  dis- 
appointed in  her  enlarged  menage,  inclined  to 
concentrate  her  irritation  upon  Jane's  defenseless 
head. 

"  Sure,  an'  that  gurl's  more  trouble  than 
she's  worth  to  ye,"  Mary  MacGrotty  had 
declared;  "an'  I  towld  yez  when  I  come  as 
how  I  c'u'dn't  stan'  fer  no  second  gurl  under 
me  feet." 

"  If  you  weren't  away  so  often,  Mary,"  began 
Mrs.  Belknap  weakly,  "  I  should " 

"  Sure,  an'  I  can't  help  that,"  interjected  Miss 
MacGrotty  strongly.  "  Blood  is  thicker  'an 
water,  I'm  thinkin',  an'  me  fambly  is  that  delicut 
an'  ailin'.  Me  cousin's  wife's  mother  was  tuk 
bad  of  a  Sunday,"  she  added  darkly.  "  I'm  ex- 
pectin'  to  hear  of  her  death  most  any  minute,  an' 
the  fun'ral  '11  be  to  Brooklyn." 

Mrs.  Belknap  sighed  apprehensively.  "  By 
the  way,  Mary,"  she  observed  in  a  carefully 
modulated  voice,  which  asked  for  information 
only,  "  have  you  chanced  to  see  my  carved  shell 
comb  anywhere  about  the  house?  I  must  have 
1 60 


Truthful     Jane 

dropped  it  from  my  hair,  I  think,  and  I  haven't 
been  able  to  find  it." 

Mary  MacGrotty  faced  about.  "  I  have 
not\  "  she  said  emphatically.  Then  she  pursed 
up  her  lips.  "  Hev  you  asked  her,  mum?  "  she 
demanded  in  a  sepulchral  whisper. 

'  You  mean  Jane  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  told  her  of  my 
loss  yesterday.  Never  mind ;  I  dare  say  I  shall 
find  it  soon.  I  hope  so,  anyway.  It  was  rather 
a  valuable  comb,  given  me  by  Mr.  Belknap  soon 
after  we  were  married,  so  I  think  a  good  deal 
of  it." 

Miss  MacGrotty's  red  elbows  vibrated  slightly 
as  her  mistress  left  the  kitchen;  and  Jane,  who 
entered  a  moment  later  in  quest  of  a  glass  of 
water  for  her  young  charge,  found  her  smiling 
evilly  into  the  depths  of  an  iron  pot. 

"If  you've  got  her  comb  hid  away  any- 
wheres," muttered  Mary,  "  you'd  better  watch 
out;  she's  onto  yez !  " 

"  But  I  haven't  hidden  her  comb,"  retorted 
Jane,  shaken  out  of  her  usual  attitude  of  calm 
disdain    toward    the    presiding    genius    of   the 
161 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

kitchen.  '  You  know  I  wouldn't  do  such  a 
thing." 

"  Aw;  do  I,  thin'  !  "  jeered  Miss  MacGrotty. 
"Well,  you  moind  what  I  say;  that's  all!  / 
ain't  a-goin'  to  be  blamed  fer  your  doin's, 
miss." 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  back  to  England,"  Jane 
told  herself,  as  she  left  the  kitchen  hot  with  rage 
and  shame. 

Master  Belknap  was  for  the  moment  playing 
peacefully  in  his  sand  pile,  and  Jane,  who  had 
been  bidden  to  keep  close  watch  upon  his  move- 
ments, stood  looking  down  at  him,  winking  fast 
to  keep  the  angry  tears  from  clouding  her  eyes. 
One,  two,  three  great  sparkling  drops  got  the 
better  of  her  and  fell  flashing  into  the  sand ;  then 
Jane  glanced  up  to  find  John  Everett  looking  at 
her  with  an  expression  of  poignant  anxiety  on  his 
honest  face. 

"  You  are  crying,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Why?  Doesn't  my  sister " 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing !  I "  To  her  immense 

dismay  Jane  choked  over  an  unmistakable  sob 
162 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

which  wrenched  her  slender  throat.  "  I  wish 
you  would — not " 

"  But  I  can't  help  it,  when  I  see  you  so  un- 
happy. Haven't  you  any  friends  in  America?  " 

"  No-o — that  is — I  have  one,"  said  Jane,  re- 
membering Bertha  Forbes's  unanswered  letter. 

"A  man?"  he  asked,  with  sudden  sharp 
anxiety. 

Jane  looked  at  him  indignantly.  "  I  don't 
know  any  man,"  she  said. 

"  You  know  me,"  he  murmured.  "  I  should 
like  to  be  your  friend,  Jane ;  may  I  ?  " 

The  girl  made  no  reply.  Instead  she  turned 
and  walked  steadily  toward  the  house.  "  I  will 
go  back  to  England,"  she  assured  herself  a  sec- 
ond time.  But  when  at  last  she  had  leisure  to 
answer  Miss  Forbes's  letter  she  found  herself 
refusing  her  kind  offer  point  blank.  "  I  could 
not  put  myself  under  so  great  an  obligation  to 
you,"  she  wrote.  "  Besides,  I  am  quite  safe  and 
not  too  unhappy  here;  and  I  shall  soon  have 
earned  the  money  for  my  passage." 

Miss  Forbes  read  this  ingenuous  epistle  with 
163 


Truthful     Jane 

a  suspicious  lifting  of  her  sagacious  brows.  "  I 
think  I'll  try  and  run  over  to  Staten  Island  and 
see  what  sort  of  a  place  she's  in,"  she  said 
aloud. 

But  she  forgot  this  friendly  resolution  in  the 
rush  of  the  next  day's  business,  and  was  only 
recalled  to  the  memory  of  it  by  an  interview 
with  one  of  the  passengers  on  the  incoming 
liner.  The  interview  was  not  of  an  official 
nature,  and  its  finish  found  Miss  Forbes  nerv- 
ously chewing  her  pencil  in  a  state  of  singular 
agitation. 

To  search  for  a  person  who  has  ostensibly 
started  upon  an  indefinite  tour  of  the  United 
States  is  not  unlike  the  traditional  hunt  for  a 
needle  in  a  haymow;  nevertheless  the  Hon. 
Wipplinger  Towle  had  gallantly  embarked  upon 
the  quest,  panoplied  with  infinite  leisure,  unlim- 
ited money,  and  the  well-disciplined  patience  of 
middle  age. 

He  had  not  seen  fit  to  acquaint  the  house  of 
Aubrey-Blythe  with  his  intentions;  being  dis- 
posed, quite  irrationally,  to  lay  the  fact  of  Jane's 
164 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

flight  at  its  door.  Mr.  Towle  was  an  exceed- 
ingly calm  not  to  say  mild-tempered  man,  a  fact 
which  very  few  persons  intimidated  by  his  stern 
eyes  and  boldly  modeled  chin  ever  found  out; 
but  upon  occasions  he  could  be  severely  implac- 
able in  his  slowly  acquired  opinions.  With  a 
sagacity  more  than  masculine  he  suspected  that 
the  failure  of  his  matrimonial  plans  and  the  sub- 
sequent disappearance  of  Jane  might  be  traced 
to  Lady  Agatha  Aubrey-Blythe,  and  he  actually 
had  the  temerity  to  tax  that  noble  lady  with  both 
in  her  own  drawing-room. 

Lady  Agatha's  righteous  indignation  was  kept 
in  leash  for  some  moments  by  her  knowledge  of 
Mr.  Towle's  wealth  and  the  hope  that  his  elderly 
fancy  on  matrimony  bent  might  yet  be  guided 
toward  the  unattractive  Gwendolen;  but  it  burst 
its  bonds  when  the  full  import  of  his  deliberate 
utterances  finally  penetrated  her  intrenched  un- 
derstanding. She  turned  white  with  fury  as  she 
focused  her  light-blue  stare  upon  the  audacious 
Mr.  Towle. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  intimate  that  you  think  it 
165 


Truthful     Jane 

my  fault  that  my  husband's  niece  has  disgraced 
herself  and  the  family  by  running  away  like  a 
governess  in  a  cheap  romance  ?  "  she  demanded, 
in  unequivocal  English. 

"  Hum — ah,"  said  Mr.  Towle,  quite  un- 
abashed. "  I — er — beg  your  pardon,  Lady  Aga- 
tha, if  I  appear  rude,  but  did  you  not  say  some 
rather  nasty  things  to  Jane  the  day  before  she 
left?  I — er — fancy,  don't  you  know,  that  it 
might  make  me  run  away  to  be  told  that  I  was 
absolutely  unattractive,  not  at  all  clever,  and — 
ah — dependent  upon  others  for  the  bread  that 
I  ate." 

"  Did  the  shameless  girl  tell  you  that?  "  cried 
Lady  Agatha,  more  enraged  by  the  Honorable 
Wipplinger's  uncompromising  manner  than  by 
his  words.  "  And  after  all  that  we  have  done 
for  her,  too !  " 

"  Just — er — what  have  you  done  for  her,  if 
I  may  inquire  ?  " 

14  What  have  we  done  for  Jane  Blythe  ?  How 
can  you  ask  such  a  question !  The  girl  was  left 
on  our  hands  with  scarcely  a  penny  to  her  name 
166 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

when  she  was  a  mere  infant.  We  have  done 
everything — everything,  and  this  is  the  way  she 
rewards  our  kindness — our  Christian  charity !  I 
trust  I  may  never  see  the  ungrateful  creature 
again." 

"  If  there  is  anything,"  said  the  Hon.  Wip- 
plinger  Towle,  with  exceeding  deliberation, 
"  which  I  despise  on  earth,  it  is  the — er — dam- 
nable sentiment  miscalled  Christian  charity.  It 
has  ruined  more  persons  than  gin,  in  my  humble 
opinion." 

After  which  he  took  his  leave  with  scant  cere- 
mony, Lady  Agatha  remaining  stock  still  in  her 
chair  in  a  state  of  semipetrifaction. 

An  hour  later,  having  recovered  the  power  of 
speech,  she  requested  her  husband  to  formally 
forbid  Mr.  Towle  the  house;  which  Mr.  Robert 
Aubrey-Blythe,  on  his  part,  flatly  refused  to  do. 
Whereupon  ensued  one  of  an  inconsiderable  num- 
ber of  battles  between  the  pair,  during  the  course 
of  which  Lady  Agatha,  having  taunted  her  hus- 
band with  his  inferior  lineage,  was  reduced  to 
tears  by  being  reminded  of  her  own  dowerless 
167 


Truthful     Jane 

condition  when  she  condescended  from  her  high 
estate  to  wed  the  rich  commoner. 

Perceiving  his  decisive  victory,  Mr.  Robert 
Aubrey-Blythe  waxed  magnanimous  to  the  point 
of  begging  the  lady's  pardon.  "  It's  deucedly 
bad  form  to  quarrel,  Agatha;  and  what's  more 
it's  ruinous  to  the  nerves  and  digestion,"  he  had 
concluded  sagely.  "  You've  gone  off  ten  years  at 
least  in  your  looks,  my  dear,  from  falling  into 
such  a  rage  over  nothing  at  all." 

"  Nothing  at  all !  "  echoed  Lady  Agatha. 
"  Why,  Robert,  the  man  used  the  most  frightful 
language  in  my  presence.  Fancy  being  told  that 
Christian  charity  has  ruined  more  persons  than 
gin !  And  as  for  the  profane  adjective  he  used 
in  connection  with  that  speech,  I  refuse  to  soil 
my  tongue  with  it !  " 

Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe  cleared  his  throat  with 
some  violence.  "  Oh — er — as  to  that,  I've 
always  said  that  Towle  was  a  clever  fellow — a 
deucedly  clever  fellow,"  he  observed  medita- 
tively. "He's  nobody's  fool,  is  Towle;  and 
mind  you  forget  all  about  this  the  next  time  I 
168 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

ask  him  to  dine;  for  ask  him  I  shall,  Lady 
Agatha,  whenever  I  please;  and  you'll  be  care- 
ful to  be  civil  to  him,  madam." 

But  the  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle  was  not 
available  as  a  dinner  guest  for  several  weeks 
thereafter;  the  fact  being  that  having  duly  re- 
flected upon  the  information  conveyed  to  him  by 
the  grateful  Susan,  he  had  found  that  the  shoe 
fitted,  had  instantly  put  it  on,  and  had  started  for 
America  on  the  trail  of  Jane. 

Fate,  as  is  her  occasional  custom,  was  scorn- 
fully kind  to  this  elderly  Sir  Galahad,  and  he 
struck  a  warm  scent  before  ever  he  had  landed 
from  the  steamer  in  the  shape  of  a  romantic 
newspaper  story  in  which  figured  an  elderly 
French  female  smuggler,  said  to  be  an  old 
hand  at  the  game,  and  a  beautiful  and  innocent 
young  English  girl  (name  not  given).  Scorn- 
ful Fate  glued  the  Honorable  Wipplinger's 
eyes  to  this  spirited  account  penned  by  an  en- 
thusiastic young  reporter,  who  chanced  to  be 
nosing  about  the  customhouse  after  material, 
and  Mr.  Towle,  although  as  devoid  of  imagi- 
169 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

nation  as  the  average  male  Briton  usually  is, 
nevertheless  pictured  Jane  as  the  unlucky  hero- 
ine of  the  moving  tale. 

The  reporter's  richly  adjectived  phrase — 
'  The  slender  little  maiden,  with  her  true  English 
complexion  of  cream  and  roses,  lit  up  by  spark- 
ling hazel  eyes  " — appeared  to  fit  Jane  with  dis- 
concerting completeness. 

When  he  landed,  immediately  after  perusing 
it,  Mr.  Towle  took  the  pains  at  once  to  look  into 
the  matter;  and  this  explains  the  unofficial  inter- 
view before  alluded  to,  in  the  course  of  whjch 
Miss  Bertha  Forbes  reduced  the  top  of  her  lead 
pencil  to  a  splintery  pulp,  more  after  the  fashion 
of  an  embarrassed  schoolgirl  than  a  stern-faced 
customs  official. 

"  No,  sir,  we  do  not  as  a  rule  make  it  a  prac- 
tice to  give  out  information  regarding  what  takes 
place  in  our  department,"  Miss  Forbes  informed 
the  tall  Englishman. 

"Hum — ah;  can  you  inform  me  whether 
there  is  any  truth  in  this  account?  "  Mr.  Towle 
persisted.  "  The  description  of  the — er — smug- 
170 


Truthful     Jane 

glers  tallies  with  that  of  the  two  persons  I  am  in 
search  of." 

Miss  Forbes  cast  her  eyes  coldly  over  the 
newspaper  item.  '  There  have  been  several  sim- 
ilar cases  of  late,"  she  admitted.  "  But  this 
states,  you  notice,  that  both  parties  were  imme- 
diately dismissed  upon  confiscation  of  the  goods. 
It  is  not  a  part  of  my  work  to  keep  track  of  de- 
tected smugglers,  and  so  of  course " 

'  You — er — saw  the  young  girl  described  in 
the  story;  did  you  not?  " 

"  I — I  couldn't  be  sure  of  it,"  prevaricated 
Miss  Forbes,  actually  blushing. 

The  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle  fixed  his  glass 
more  firmly  in  his  eye  and  proceeded  to  stare  the 
intrepid  Bertha  out  of  countenance.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  he  observed  masterfully,  "  but  I 
— er — fancy  you're  mistaken." 

"  In  what?  "  snapped  the  female  inspector. 

"  In  saying  you're  not  sure  you  saw  Miss 
Blythe.  You — er — recall  the  whole  incident 
perfectly,  I  am  confident." 

"  Of  all  the — impudence !  "  murmured  Miss 
171 


Truthful     Jane 

Forbes,  somewhat  excitedly.     "  Well,  suppose  I 
do;  what  then?  " 

"  If  you  know  where  she  is,  it  will  be  greatly 
to  her  advantage  if  you  will  tell  me,"  said  Mr. 
Towle  mildly. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  mused  Bertha 
Forbes.  "  Who,  for  example,  are  you  ?  You're 
not  her  uncle." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Towle  astutely. 
"  No;  I  am  not  a  relative  of  Miss  Blythe's.  I 
am — er — merely  a  friend.  But  I  beg  to  assure 
you  that  I  have  her  best  interests  warmly  at 
heart." 

"Humph! — Well,  I  guess  you  have,"  ad- 
mitted Miss  Forbes,  after  a  prolonged  semi- 
official scrutiny  of  Mr.  Towle's  countenance,  an 
ordeal  which  that  honorable  gentleman  bore 
with  the  calm  of  conscious  integrity.  "  But 
for  all  that  I  don't  think  I  shall  tell  you  where 
she  is." 

"Why  not?"  urged  Mr.  Towle,  with  an 
agitation  which  caused  him  to  appear  almost 
youthful. 

172 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Because  I'm  sure  she  wouldn't  thank  me  for 
it,"  said  Bertha  Forbes  coolly.  "  Good  day, 
sir." 

"  By  heavens,  madam,  I'll  not  be  put  off  like 
this !  "  declared  Mr.  Towle,  very  much  in  ear- 
nest. "  I  came  to  America  on  purpose  to  find 
her." 

"  Find  her  then,"  advised  Miss  Forbes,  with 
tantalizing  brevity.  "  I  can't  talk  to  you  any 
longer  to-day." 

'To-morrow  then?"  Mr.  Towle  caught 
eagerly  at  the  straw  of  suggestion  in  her  last 
word. 

But  Miss  Forbes  was  denied  to  unofficial  visi- 
tors on  the  following  day,  and  for  three  days 
thereafter,  a  period  which  Mr.  Towle  endured 
with  such  resignation  as  he  could  muster. 

On  the  fourth  day  he  intercepted  that  stony- 
hearted official  on  her  way  home  to  her  lodg- 
ings. "  Look  here,  Miss  Forbes,"  he  said 
doggedly,  "  I  didn't  offer  you  money  the  other 
day  to  tell  me  of  Miss  Blythe's  whereabouts. 
But " 

12  173 


Truth  ful     Jane 

"  Don't  do  it  to-day  either,"  snapped  the  lady, 
with  an  ominous  flash  of  her  really  fine  eyes. 
4  You're  not  in  England,  remember." 

"  Yet  I  find  the  cabbies  and  hotel  people  more 
rapacious  than  in  London,"  Mr.  Towle  observed 
thoughtfully.  "  Nevertheless  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Miss — er — Forbes,  and  I  entreat  you  to  tell  me 
where  Jane  is.  I — I  believe  I  shall  be  ill  if  I 
can't  find  her." 

"  You  are  looking  pretty  well  done  up,"  acqui- 
esced Miss  Forbes;  "but," — seriously, — "how 
am  I  to  be  sure  you  are  not  the  last  person  on 
earth  she  wants  to  see?  " 

"  I  wish  to  heavens  I  could  be  sure  I'm  not!  " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Towle  fervently.  "  But  some- 
body ought  to  take  her  home." 

"  Granted,"  agreed  Miss  Forbes.  "  I've 
offered  to  send  her  back  to  England;  but  she 
won't  go — for  me.  She  might  for  you;  but  I 
doubt  it." 

"  I  have  at  least  earned  the  right  to  try,"  he 
said,  with  something  so  convincing  in  his  tone 
and  manner  that  Bertha  Forbes,  who  was  at 
174 


Truthful     Jane 

heart  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  woman,  sur- 
rendered at  discretion. 

'  Very  well ;  I'll  give  you  her  address,  and  you 
can  go  and  see  her,  if  you  like,"  she  said  gruffly. 
"  But  I  warn  you  she's  an  obstinate  young  per- 
son, quite  bent  upon  having  her  own  silly  way." 


175 


CHAPTER    XI 

ALL  of  the  foregoing  took  place  on  the  same 
day  that  Mrs.  Belknap  wanted  to  know  if  Jane 
had  seen  her  second-best  gold  hat  pin.  The  day 
after  that,  three  fine  embroidered  handkerchiefs 
were  said  to  be  missing  from  the  little  inlaid  box 
on  her  bureau. 

Mary  MacGrotty  displayed  her  big  teeth  in 
a  malevolent  smile  when  Jane  rather  fearfully 
mentioned  this  last  circumstance  in  the  kitchen. 
"  You  don't  suppose  the  wind  could  have  blown 
them  away  last  Monday,  do  you,  Mary  ?  It  was 
blowing  hard,  I  remember,"  Jane  said,  nervously 
twisting  her  apron  strings. 

"  It  'ud  be  a  strong  wind  to  lift  'em  out  the 
missus's  box,  I'm  thinkin',"  said  Miss  Mac- 
Grotty  dryly.  "  But  they  wuz  lifted,  all  right; 
an'  no  one  knows  ut  better  'an  you,  Miss  Inno- 
cence, wid  yer  purty  face  an'  yer  big  saucer  eyes." 
176 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

Jane  stared  at  the  grinning  Irish  face,  her  own 
paling.  '  You  are  a  bad,  cruel  woman !  "  she 
cried;  "  and  you  are  not  honest;  I  saw  you  take 
sugar  out  of  the  jar,  and  tea  out  of  the  caddy !  " 

Miss  MacGrotty  burst  into  a  furious  fit  of 
coughing.  "  Aw,  you  impident  little  spalpeen, 
you !  "  she  hissed,  her  face  purple  with  rage. 
"  Git  out  o'  me  kitchen  this  minute !  We'll  at- 
tind  to  your  case  prisintly.  Yis,  indade;  I'll  not 
have  my  character  blackened  by  a  light-fingered 
gurl  from  nobody  knows  where.  Yis ;  you  may 
stare,  miss.  You  niver  come  honest  by  the  foine 
rings  in  yer  box,  I'm  thinkin',  an'  the  little  goold 
watch  wid  a  di'mon'  in  the  back,  an'  the  locket 
wid  pearls." 

'  You  have  been  in  my  room ! — looking  at  my 
things !  "  gasped  Jane.  "  How  dare  you !  " 

"  Git  out  o'  me  kitchen,  or  I'll  tak'  the  procker 
to  yez !  "  shouted  Mary.  "  How  dare  I !  In- 
dade !  Ye'll  find  it  ain't  best  to  gain  the  ill  will 
o'  Mary  MacGrotty  afore  you're  t'rough." 

Jane  went  slowly  up  the  stairs  revolving  many 
things  in  her  mind.     She  was  even  considering 
177 


Truthful     Jane 

the  advisability  of  confiding  her  whole  story  to 
Mrs.  Belknap,  when  that  young  matron's  cold, 
even  tones  fell  upon  her  ear. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  you,  Jane,  for  a  mo- 
ment," she  said,  with  an  air  of  severity,  which 
stiffened  Jane's  pretty  upper  lip  into  haughty  in- 
difference. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Belknap,"  said  the  girl  with  a 
perfect  propriety  of  manner,  which  aroused  a 
wholly  irrelevant  resentment  in  the  breast  of  the 
other  woman. 

"  I  wish  to  tell  you,  Jane,  that  last  evening 
after  you  had  retired  a  strange  man  came  here 
— to  the  front  door — inquiring  for  you.  Mr. 
Belknap,  who  answered  the  bell,  referred  the 
matter  to  me,  and  I  told  him  to  say  to  the  man 
that  he  could  not  see  you." 

Jane  stared  at  her  mistress  in  silence,  indigna- 
tion tempered  with  a  certain  speculative  curiosity 
looking  out  of  her  bright  eyes. 

"  He  appeared  " — Mrs.  Belknap  went  on, 
with  rising  irritation — "  quite  like  a  gentleman. 
But  why  should  a  man — any  man — come  to  my 
178 


Truthful     Jane 

front  door  to  inquire  for  you  ?  I  am  sorry,  Jane, 
but  this  circumstance,  in  connection  with  others, 
looks  very  suspicious  to  me.  I  do  not  approve 
of  a  girl  in  your  situation  attracting  the  atten- 
tion of  a  man — more  particularly  of  a  man  in  a 
higher  station  of  life.  It  is  not  at  all  proper; 
you  ought  to  know  that." 

"  Proper?  "  echoed  Jane  inquiringly. 

"  Perhaps  I  should  have  said  suitable" 
amended  Mrs.  Belknap.  "  But  I  insist  that  you 
shall  be  quite  truthful  with  me.  Who  was  this 
man?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Belknap,"  said 
Jane.  u  I  don't  know  any  men."  Then  she 
blushed  guiltily. 

Mrs.  Belknap  bristled  with  matronly  dignity 
as  she  observed  the  girl's  conscious  face.  "  You 
may  go  now,  Jane,"  she  said,  with  an  air  of  stern 
virtue.  "  But  I  wish  to  remind  you  once  more 
that  it  is  always  best  to  tell  the  truth  no  matter 
how  unpleasant  the  consequences  may  appear  to 
you.  If  young  girls  in  your  situation  in  life 
could  only  learn  that!  " 

179 


Truthful     Jane 

Jane's  eyes  flickered  and  a  shadowy  dimple  ap- 
peared at  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  "  Suppose 
one  does  tell  the  truth,  ma'am,  and  it  sounds 
so  queer  that  other  people  will  not  believe  it?  " 
she  asked. 

'  That,"  said  Mrs.  Belknap,  magnificently, 
"  is  not  apt  to  occur.  A  sincere  person  can 
hardly  be  mistaken  by  another  sincere  person. 
And  the  truth,  Jane,  never  sounds  queer  I  " 
Which  aphorism  may  be  accepted  for  what  it  is 
worth. 

The  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle,  for  the  time 
being,  had  taken  up  his  abode  upon  Staten  Is- 
land, in  a  certain  pretentious  hotel  which  over- 
looks the  bay,  and  quite  undaunted  by  his  recep- 
tion of  the  previous  evening  he  again  presented 
himself  at  the  street  and  number  furnished 
him  by  Bertha  Forbes.  On  this  occasion  the 
door  was  opened  by  Jane  herself  in  cap  and 
apron. 

The  mutual  start  of  amazement  which  fol- 
lowed shook  both  man  and  maid  out  of  the  chill 
precincts  of  the  conventionalities. 
180 


Truthful    Jane 

"  My  God — Jane  \  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Towle. 
"  What  are  you  doing  in  this  house?  " 

This  pertinent  inquiry  brought  Jane  to  herself 
with  all  the  speed  and  thoroughness  of  a  dash 
of  cold  water.  "  I  am  working  for  my  living," 
she  replied  haughtily. 

Mr.  Towle  stared  helplessly  at  the  girl.  "  I 
have  come,"  he  said  at  last,  "  to  fetch  you  home." 

"  If  you  wish  to  talk  to  me,"  said  Jane  defi- 
antly, "  you  will  be  obliged  to  come  around  to 
the  back  door.  I  will  ask  my  mistress  if  I  may 
speak  with  you  in  the  kitchen  for  a  few  minutes. 
But  there  isn't  any  use  of  talking,"  she  added. 
"  I  will  not  go  home — at  least  not  yet."  Then 
she  shut  the  door  in  his  face. 

Mr.  Towle  said  something  fierce  under  his 
breath ;  after  which,  without  any  hesitation  what- 
ever, he  looked  about  for  the  kitchen  entrance. 
"  I'll  talk  with  her,"  he  said,  "  if  I  have  to  go 
to  Hades  to  do  it." 

In  the  meanwhile  Jane  was  interviewing  her 
mistress.  "  Mr.  Towle  has  come  to  see  me, 
ma'am ;  may  I  speak  with  him  in  the  kitchen  for 
181 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

a  few  minutes?"  she  asked  with  haughty  sub- 
servience. "  Mary  is  out;  and  Master  Belknap 
is  playing  in  his  sand  pile." 

Mrs.  Belknap  was  in  the  act  of  putting  the 
finishing  touches  to  a  dainty  costume.  She 
stopped  short  and  faced  about.  "  Who  is  Mr. 
Towle?  "  she  demanded. 

"  He  is  a  friend  of — of  Uncle  Robert's,  from 
England,"  replied  Jane,  rather  sullenly  to  her 
mistress's  thinking. 

"Dear,  dearl"  murmured  Mrs.  Belknap, 
eying  her  pleasing  reflection  in  the  glass  with  a 
frown.  "  This  is  too  much !  And  I  was  just  on 
the  point  of  going  out  to  a  reception;  now,  of 
course,  I  shall  be  obliged  to " 

Jane  looked  up  suddenly.  "  I  don't  wish  to 
talk  with  him,"  she  said. 

"Then  why  not  send  him  away?  Wait!  I 
will  go  down  myself  and  speak  with  the  man.  I 
hope  you  haven't  left  him  alone  below  stairs. 
There  have  been  so  many  burglaries  lately.  He 
is  in  the  kitchen,  I  suppose." 

Jane  smothered  a  hysterical  laugh,  as  Mrs. 
182 


Truthful     Jane 

Belknap's  rustling  skirts  swept  down  the  rear 
staircase.  She  heard  her  young  mistress's  dis- 
tinct American  voice  in  a  tone  of  displeased  sur- 
prise. Then  a  door  closed  sharply,  and  the  girl 
heard  a  man's  retreating  steps  passing  beneath 
the  open  window. 

"  He  must  be  horribly  vexed,"  she  murmured; 
"  but  I'll  not  go  back  to  England."  She  did  not 
choose  to  question  herself  too  sharply  as  to  her 
reasons  for  this  dogged  resolution.  But  she  re- 
flected that  Mr.  Towle  appeared  much  older 
since  she  had  last  seen  him. 

Mrs.  Belknap  called  her  presently  from  below 
stairs.  "I  am  going  now,  Jane;  for  I  really 
must  stop  at  Mrs.  Brown's  tea  if  only  for  a  few 
minutes.  But  I  shall  not  be  away  long.  Keep 
your  eye  on  Buster  every  moment;  I  am  told 
there  are  gypsies  about.  And,  Jane,  if  Mary 
isn't  back  by  five  you  must  open  the  draughts  of 
the  range  and  prepare  the  vegetables." 

Left  alone  with  her  small  charge,  Jane  sat 
down  on  the  little  green  bench  under  the  vines 
with  a  kitchen  towel  to  hem.  It  was  very  quiet 

183 


Truthful     Jane 

and  peaceful,  and  the  occasional  distant  roar  of 
a  passing  trolley  and  the  loud  singing  of  a  very 
fat  red-breasted  robin,  which  had  its  nest  in  one 
of  the  maples  which  were  planted  at  stated  in- 
tervals along  the  street,  merely  served  to  make 
the  country  stillness  the  more  evident.  Master 
Belknap  was  pleasantly  absorbed  in  his  endeav- 
ors to  construct  a  two-foot  mountain  in  the  midst 
of  the  sand  box,  and  apparently  much  entertained 
by  the  ceaseless  action  of  the  law  of  gravitation 
evidenced  by  the  conduct  of  the  unstable  material 
at  its  apex.  He  did  not  look  up  at  sound  of  the 
hasty  steps  which  approached  the  house;  but 
Jane  did.  Then  she  put  down  the  brown  towel 
with  a  displeased  pucker  of  her  white  forehead. 

"  I  thought  that  you  had  gone,"   she  said 
coldly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  wish  to  speak  with 
that — er — young  woman  who  dismissed  me  a 
half  hour  ago,"  said  Mr.  Towle,  with  exceeding 
politeness  of  manner.  "  I  must  see  her.  I  wish 
to — er — explain.  She  was,"  he  added  thought- 
fully, "  an  exceedingly  rude  person." 
184 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  If  you  are  referring  to  Mrs.  Belknap,"  Jane 
said,  "  I  beg  to  inform  you  that  she  is  my  mis- 
tress; she  sent  you  away  with  as  little  ceremony 
as  possible  for  several  reasons  which  it  is  not 
necessary  for  me  to  explain." 

"Hum — ah !"  murmured  Mr.  Towle.  "Do 
you — er — mind  telling  me  one  of  them?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you  insist!  "  said  Jane,  "  I  told  Mrs. 
Belknap  that  I  did  not  care  to  talk  with  you,  and 
since  she  very  particularly  wished  me  to  be  at 
liberty  to  attend  to  my  work,  which  is  to  look 
after  her  child,  and  to " 

Mr.  Towle  made  a  large  gesture  expressive 
of  his  extreme  indifference  to  Mrs.  Belknap's 
child  and  also  her  brown  towel.  "  I  came  from 
England  to  find  you,  Jane,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  Why  did  you  go  away?  " 

"Why  shouldn't  I  go  away — if  I  chose?" 
Jane  wanted  to  know,  with  a  provoking  drawl. 
She  set  two  stitches  in  her  brown  towel  with  ex- 
ceeding care,  then  put  her  pretty  head  on  one  side 
to  survey  the  effect. 

"  There  are  at  least  two  reasons  why  you 
185 


Truthful     Jane 

should  have  stopped  at  home  for  every  one  you 
can  give  for  running  away,"  he  said  deliberately. 

"  But  I  didn't  run  away  \  "  denied  Jane  crossly. 
"  I — I  just  went.  Aunt  Agatha  meant  to  send 
me  somewhere  because  she  hates  me,  I  verily  be- 
lieve. I  preferred  to  go." 

"  Nevertheless  you  should  have  stayed,"  he 
said  gently.     "  Your  position  in  life  demanded 
patience  and  —  er  —  pardon  me  —  self-control. 
You  exercised  neither,  it  seems,   and  now— 
His  expressive  look  pointed  the  moral. 

Jane  winced  under  the  prick  of  it.  "  How 
did  you  ever  find  me?  "  she  asked,  after  a  long 
pause  filled  with  industrious  stitching  on  the 
brown  towel. 

"  I  saw  an  account  of  the  smuggling  episode 
in  an  American  newspaper,"  he  said  coolly. 
"  Then,  quite  naturally,  I  looked  up  Miss 
Forbes  at  the  customs  department,  and  she  gave 
me  your  address.  It  was  surprisingly  simple, 
you  see,  though  it  might  easily  have  been  far 
otherwise." 

Jane  bent  her  crimson  face  over  her  work. 
186 


Truthful     Jane 

Her  needle  snapped  in  her  trembling  fingers.  "  I 
— I  didn't  know  about  that  dreadful  woman," 
she  said  in  a  low,  shamed  voice.  "  I  supposed 
she  was  going  to  travel  in  America.  How  could 
I  have  known !  " 

Mr.  Towle  bent  forward,  his  melancholy  gray 
eyes  filled  with  the  warm  light  of  pity  and  that 
deeper  feeling  to  which  it  is  said  to  be  akin. 
"  Poor  little  girl,"  he  said  in  a  deep  voice,  which 
fell  upon  Jane's  ears  like  a  caress.  "  You 
couldn't  have  known,  of  course.  And  I  say  it's 
all  a  beastly  shame — the  way  they  have  treated 
you  and  all.  Won't  you  let  me  take  care  of  you 
after  this,  Jane?  You  shall  never  suffer  so 
again." 

Jane  tried  to  answer;  but  somehow  the  words 
refused  to  come. 

"  Let  me  take  you  away  from  all  this,"  he 
pleaded.  "  Won't  you,  dear?" 

At  this  moment  Master  Belknap  slowly 
climbed  up  the  steps.  "  My  neck  is  hot,"  he  said 
seriously,  "  an'  I  want  a  dwink  of  water." 

Jane  arose  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  *  Yes,  Bus- 
187 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

ter,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  I'll  go  and  fetch  it 
for  you." 

The  little  boy  turned  his  clear  eyes  upon  the 
man  and  studied  him  in  silence  for  a  minute. 
'  Why  did  you  come?  "  he  said  at  length. 

Mr.  Towle  looked  down  at  the  child  with 
resignation.  "If  I  should  ask  you  the  same 
question,  my  young  man,"  he  observed,  "  you 
wouldn't  understand,  I  suppose.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  if  you  had — er — stayed  away  ten  minutes 
longer,  perhaps " 

"  My  Uncle  Jack  has  a  knife  named  after 
him,"  proceeded  the  child  confidentially.  "  It 
is  a  Jack-knife.  I  yuve  my  Uncle  Jack,  an' — 
an'  I  yuve  my  Jane." 

"  Hum — ah,"  observed  Mr.  Towle.  Then 
he  removed  his  hat — for  it  was  a  warm  day — 
and  passed  his  handkerchief  thoughtfully  over 
the  top  of  his  bald  head.  Jane  caught  a  fleet- 
ing glimpse  of  its  dull,  pale  glisten  as  she  paused 
with  her  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  screen  door. 

Her  face,  as  she  held  the  glass  for  the  child 
to  drink,  was  so  severely  grave  and  sweet  that 
188 


Truthful     Jane 

the  Honorable  Wipplinger's  heart  gave  a  sudden 
painful  throb.  "  You  haven't  answered  my  ques- 
tion, Jane,"  he  murmured,  bending  toward  her. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  the  merciless  eyes 
of  youth.  "  I  really  cannot  do  as  you  wish,  Mr. 
Towle,"  she  said  slowly.  "  And — I  must  ask 
you  to  go  away  directly;  I  ought  not  to  have 
talked  with  you  here  without  Mrs.  Belknap's 
permission." 

"  I  can't  leave  you  here  in  this  false  position," 
he  said  hoarsely.  "  For  God's  sake,  Jane,  listen 
to  me !  If  you'll  not  marry  me,  let  me  take  you 
home — back  to  England.  This  is  no  place  for 
you." 

Jane's  pretty  lips  set  in  stubborn  lines.  "  I 
shall  stop  here,"  she  said,  "  until  I  have  earned 
money  enough  to  go  back  to  England;  then  I 
shall  find  a — a  position — somewhere." 

She  was  leaning  forward,  her  gaze  riveted  on 
the  far  end  of  the  street.  "  And — and  please 
go  at  once,"  she  added  breathlessly.  '  You 
must  indeed." 

The  small  boy  had  scampered  across  the 
13  189 


Truth  ful     Jane 

weedy  little  lawn  and  climbed  upon  the  fence. 
Now  he  hastily  scrambled  down  and  swung 
open  the  gate.  "  Uncle  Jack!  "  he  shouted;  "  I 
see  my  Uncle  Jack.  I'm  doin'  to  meet  my  Uncle 
Jack;  may  I,  Jane?  " 

Jane  nodded. 

'  You  really  want  me  to  go  and  leave  you 
here?"  the  man  said  heavily.  "Is  it  be- 
cause  " 

"  If  you  care  for  me  at  all,"  she  answered 
cruelly,  "  you  would  not  wish  to  annoy  me  by 
stopping  after  I  have  asked  you  to  go." 

Halfway  down  the  street  he  encountered  a 
tall,  athletic  young  man  swinging  easily  along, 
the  child  perched  upon  his  shoulder,  his  small 
hands  buried  in  the  man's  thick  waving  brown 
hair.  "  Det  up,  Uncle  Jack,"  shouted  the  boy 
gleefully,  and  drummed  his  small  heels  upon  his 
bearer's  broad  chest. 

Mr.  Towle  caught  a  fleeting  glance  of  inquiry 
and  half-humorous  apology  from  a  pair  of  hon- 
est blue  eyes  as  the  two  passed  on  the  narrow 
wooden  sidewalk. 

190 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

"  You  are  a  bally  fool,"  groaned  the  Hon. 
Wipplinger  Towle  in  his  own  ear,  "  and  a  cad  to 
boot."  And  having  thus  frankly  labeled  his 
intentions,  he  deliberately  turned  to  watch  the 
tall  young  American,  with  his  insolently  hand- 
some head,  as  he  passed  up  the  street  and  in  at 
the  gate  of  number  24  Vanderbilt  Avenue. 

"  She  must  have  seen  him,"  muttered  Mr. 
Towle,  "  before  the  boy  did."  Then  he  allowed 
the  infrequent  trolley  car  to  slide  past  him  into 
the  sparsely  settled  country,  while  he  tramped, 
his  hat  pulled  low  over  his  eyes,  for  many  a 
dusty  mile — how  many  he  neither  knew  nor 
cared. 


191 


CHAPTER   XII 

WHEN  the  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle  beheld  the 
inhospitable  shores  of  Staten  Island  fade  into 
a  dim  haze  of  distance,  which  he  accomplished 
from  the  depths  of  a  comfortable  steamer  chair, 
placed  in  just  the  proper  position  on  the  deck 
of  the  newest  Cunarder,  it  was  without  any 
rancor  of  soul  or  bitterness  of  spirit.  He  loved 
Jane  Blythe  as  much  (or  more)  than  ever;  but 
he  was  not  disposed  on  that  account  to  humiliate 
himself  to  the  point  of  seeking  stolen  interviews 
with  the  object  of  his  affection  upon  American 
back  stoops.  No ;  Jane  must  somehow  be  led  to 
return  to  her  native  land,  and  once  more  in  her 
proper  environment,  Mr.  Towle  could  not  find 
it  in  his  heart  to  despair  of  finally  winning  her. 
He  was  a  man  of  wide  and  varied  experience, 
and  he  was  not  unaware  that  a  period  of  dis- 
creet neglect  upon  his  part  might  tend  to  en- 
hance his  apparent  value. 
192 


Truthful    Jane 

It  should  be  explained  that  during  the  course 
of  that  long  and  dusty  tramp  over  the  highways 
of  Staten  Island,  whereon  he  had  encountered 
clouds  of  bloodthirsty  mosquitoes,  the  evidence 
of  whose  fierce  attacks  was  even  yet  to  be  dis- 
cerned upon  his  patrician  countenance,  the  saga- 
cious Mr.  Towle  had  laid  out  a  course  of 
action  from  which  he  had  not  deviated  an  iota 
thus  far,  and  in  which  his  early  return  to  Eng- 
land figured  as  a  necessary  step.  In  brief,  he 
had  taken  the  pains  to  satisfy  himself  that  Jane 
Blythe's  humiliating  position  was  not  in  any 
sense  an  unsafe  one,  and  that  her  sojourn  under 
the  roof  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  Livingstone 
Belknap  would  result  in  little  beyond  what  Mr. 
Towle  was  philosophically  inclined  to  look  upon 
as  a  needful  though  unpleasant  experience.  The 
only  factor  in  the  problem  which  really  perplexed 
him  was  the  presence  of  Mr.  John  Everett  in 
the  home  of  Mrs.  Belknap.  That  arrogantly 
youthful  figure  suggested  a  possible  painful  finale 
to  his  own  hopes,  which  Mr.  Towle  nevertheless 
found  himself  able  to  contemplate  with  resigna- 
193 


Truthful    Jane 

tion.  He  had  arrived,  in  short,  at  that  enviable 
stage  of  his  experience  when  he  had  ceased  to 
avidly  desire  what  did  not  essentially  belong  to 
himself.  "  A  man  does  not  really  want  that 
which  is  another's,"  he  was  accustomed  to  say 
to  the  few  intimates  who  were  admitted  to  his 
confidence.  "  He  only  thinks  or  supposes  that 
he  does.  The  possession  of  it  would  make  him 
as  wretched  as  did  the  fabled  black  pudding 
which  the  unfortunate  old  woman  acquired  with 
the  first  of  her  three  elfin-bestowed  wishes. 
Made  irrevocably  fast  to  the  end  of  her  nose  by 
her  angry  husband  by  means  of  the  second  wish, 
she  was  finally  forced  to  rid  herself  of  it  by  the 
sacrifice  of  the  last  and  final  wish." 

Not  that  Jane  Blythe  ever  appeared  to  Mr. 
Towle  in  the  guise  of  a  potential  black  pudding. 
He  thought  of  her  continually  and  sincerely  as 
altogether  good,  lovely,  and  desirable;  but  as 
quite  possibly  too  good,  too  lovely,  and  too  de- 
sirable a  possession  for  his  lonely  heart  to  sel- 
fishly appropriate.  Something  of  this  really 
chivalrous  and  exquisitely  altruistic  devotion  was 
194 


Truthful     Jane 

apparent  even  to  the  obtuse  perceptions  of  Mr. 
Robert  Aubrey- Ely  the,  whom  Mr.  Towle  sought 
out  immediately  upon  reaching  London. 

"  I  have  found  her,  Robert,"  began  Mr. 
Towle,  without  preamble. 

"You  have  found ?" 

"  Jane,"  said  Mr.  Towle.  The  honorable 
gentleman  did  not  appear  at  all  excited,  conse- 
quently Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe,  as  in  duty  bound, 
sprang  up  from  his  chair,  where  he  had  been 
absorbed  in  a  matter  antipodally  remote  from  the 
fortunes  of  his  niece. 

"Well,  well,  well!"  cried  Mr.  Aubrey- 
Blythe  excitedly,  and  "  Upon  my  soul,  Towle !  " 
he  said.  "  I  am  surprised!  " 

He  was  quite  sincere  in  this  statement,  for 
beyond  a  few  perfunctory  efforts  to  trace  the 
missing  girl  the  Aubrey-Blythes  had  appeared 
piously  resigned  to  the  decree  of  a  discerning 
Providence  which  had  seen  fit  to  remove  so  dis- 
turbing an  element  from  their  midst.  Still  it  was 
annoying,  not  to  say  intolerable,  to  have  one's 
acquaintances  at  the  club  and  elsewhere  preface 
195 


Truthful     Jane 

their  ordinary  remarks  with  the  query  "  Found 
your  niece  yet,  Blythe?"  or  "Hear  you've  a 
deuced  unhappy  mystery  to  unravel  at  your 
house,"  with  an  occasional  dubious  reference  to 
the  morgue  and  the  workhouse.  So  it  was  with 
genuine  relief  and  pleasure  that  Mr.  Aubrey- 
Blythe  learned  of  the  speedy  and  successful 
denouement  of  Mr.  Towle's  foreign  adventures. 

"  I  am  shocked  and — er — grieved  at  what  you 
tell  me  of  the  girl's  present  position,"  he  added, 
with  genuine  mortification  depicted  upon  his 
rotund  countenance.  "  An  Aubrey-Blythe  in  a 
kitchen — actually  working  with  her  hands  \  Pre- 
posterous, Towle,  preposterous !  I  shall  at  once 
take  steps  to  remove  her." 

"Hum — ah,"  murmured  Mr.  Towle;  "bet- 
ter leave  her  where  she  is  for  a  while  longer." 

"  What  is  that  you  are  saying?  "  inquired  the 
other  fussily.  "  No,  no;  that  would  never  do, 
Towle— rnever  in  the  world!  Bless  my  soul; 
what  will  my  wife,  Lady  Agatha  Aubrey-Blythe, 
say  to  all  this!  Really,  Towle,  I  dislike  to  dis- 
turb her  ladyship  with  the  shocking  intelligence." 
196 


Truthful     Jane 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  inform  her  of  it," 
Mr.  Towle  said,  rather  sharply.  "  There  is 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  doing  so,  and  much  to 
be  lost." 

"  The  girl  has  never  been  a   favorite  with 
Lady  Agatha,"   observed  Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe. 
'  They  seem  to  be — er — totally  uncongenial." 

"  I  can  quite  believe  that,"  said  the  other 
dryly.  He  stared  hard  at  his  friend  in  silence 
for  some  minutes  before  he  spoke  again.  "  I 
believe  you — er — informed  me  that  your  niece, 
Miss  Jane  Aubrey-Blythe,  was —  That  is  to 
*  say,  you  gave  me  to  understand  that  she  was 
entirely  without  fortune.  Am  I  correct  in  this 
— er — particular?  " 

"And  I,"  burst  out  Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe, 
"  understood  you  to  say  that  the  fact  made  no 
difference  in  your — ah —  But,  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Towle;  of  course  this — er — unfortunate 
escapade  of  the  girl's  ends  all  that— of  course, 
of  course!  I  shouldn't  have  spoken  as  I  did." 

'  You  misunderstand  me,  Robert,"  said  Mr. 
Towle  patiently.    "  My  sentiments  toward  Miss 
197 


Truthful     Jane 

Blythe  are  entirely  unchanged;  quite  so,  in  fact. 
What  I  wished  to  say  is  this:  I  should  like  to 
settle  some  money  on  Miss  Blythe,  and — er — 
I  don't  know  how  to  go  about  it.  You  must 
advise  me,  Robert." 

'  You  would  like  to  settle  some  money !  Yes, 
I  see;  but  this  is  no  time  to  talk  of  marriage 
settlements,  my  dear  fellow,  with  the  girl  in 
America,  and " 

"  I  am  not  talking  of  marriage  settlements," 
said  Mr.  Towle  calmly.  "  There  may  never  be 
a  marriage  between  us;  in  fact  I  have  scarcely 
any  hope  of  it.  I  am  too  old,  and  " — with  a 
slight  bitterness  of  manner — "  unluckily  I  look 
even  older  than  I  am.  No;  what  I  want  is  to 
give  to  Jane  a  comfortable  sum  of  money  out- 
right, and  leave  her  to  be  happy  in  her  own  way. 
If  I  can  win  her  later  on,  I  mean  to  do  it  fairly 
and  squarely ;  but,  as  I  have  already  said,  I  have 
very  little  hope  of  it." 

"Gad,  man!  if  you  give  the  girl  a  fortune, 
she's  bound  to  marry  you;  common  gratitude, 
common  decency,  would  demand  it." 
198 


Truth  f  ul    Jane 

"  Exactly  so,"  quoth  Mr.  Towle.  "  But  I'll 
have  no  common  gratitude  and  common  decency 
as  you  call  it — and  deuced  common  it  is — mix- 
ing up  in  her  feelings  for  me.  Neither  do  I  want 
her  driven  into  a  marriage  with  me  as  a  dernier 
ressort.  If  she  could — er — love  me  I —  But 
never  mind,  Robert.  We'll  cut  this  short,  if  you 
please.  And  I  don't  intend,  mark  you,  to  give 
her  a  fortune;  nothing  that  would  attract  a 
crowd  of  worthless  fellows,  you  understand,  but 
enough  so  that  she  may  feel  free  and  independent 
of — er — other  people,  including  yourself,  and 
be  able  to  buy  her  own  frocks  and  the  feathers 
and  frills  that  women  love;  a  matter  of  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  pounds,  say." 

"  Very  handsome  of  you,  Towle,  to  have 
thought  of  it,  I'm  sure;  uncommonly  generous, 
by  gad!  but  I  doubt  if  it  will  be  becoming  in 
me  to  allow  it.  I  fear  that  Lady  Agatha " 

"  You'll  not  tell  her,"  interrupted  Mr.  Towle 

eagerly.    Then  he  leaned  forward  and  rested  his 

hand  upon  the  other's  broad  knee.     "  I'm  not 

one  to  refer  over  often  to  the  past,  Robert,  as 

199 


Truthful     Jane 

you  know;  but  I  believe  you've  told  me  more 
than  once  that  you — er — that  I —  No;  I  can't 
say  it.  It  sticks  in  my  throat." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  Towle,"  growled 
Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe.  "  There's  no  need  for  you 
to  remind  me  that  I'm  under  a  tremendous  obli- 
gation to  you.  But  do  you  mean  to  tell  me " 

"  I  declare  to  you  that  if  you  will  help  me  to 
do  what  I  wish  in  this  one  thing,  I  shall  know 
the  obligation  to  be  on  the  other  side.  And, 
mind,  it  is  to  be  kept  a  secret  between  you  and 
me — forever." 

Mr.  Robert  Aubrey-Blythe  appeared  plunged 
into  profound  meditation.  At  last  he  raised  his 
head.  "  She  wouldn't  touch  a  penny  of  it,  if  she 
knew,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Jane  is  deucedly  in- 
dependent and  all  that." 

"  She'd  be  obliged  to  take  it  if  it  came  from 
a  relative,"  suggested  Mr.  Towle;  "couldn't 


you " 

The  other  shook  his  head.     "  Bless  my  soul, 
Towle,"  he  murmured,  with  something  very  like 
a  twinkle  of  humor  in  his  eyes;  "if  I  should 
200 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

attempt  to  settle  a  shilling  piece  on  Jane  there'd 
be  the  deuce  and  all  to  pay.  I  should  think  you'd 
know  better  than  to  suggest  it." 

"  It's  going  to  be  done  somehow,  Robert," 
said  Mr.  Towle  firmly,  "  if  I — er — have  to  hang 
myself  to  bring  it  about.  She  couldn't  refuse  a 
legacy." 

"Oh,  I  say;  th'at  would  never  do,  Towle! 
You  mustn't  think  of  such  a  thing,"  protested 
Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe,  fidgeting  in  his  chair. 
"  But,  speaking  of  a  legacy,  I  wonder,  now " 

He  left  his  sentence  suspended  in  midair,  while 
he  rummaged  in  his  desk  for  a  paper.  "  Hum 
— yes,  yes.  Now,  I  wonder —  I — er — had  a 
brother  once,  a  younger  brother,  a  sad  rascal  of 
a  fellow,  quite  as  improvident  as  poor  Oliver — 
Jane's  father,  you  know — and  dissolute  to  boot. 
We  don't  often  mention  Foxhall  Aubrey-Blythe, 
poor  fellow ;  sad  case,  very.  He's  dead,  in  short. 
Died  in  South  Africa  a  couple  of  months  ago, 
without  a  sixpence  to  his  name,  as  might  have 
been  expected.  Now,  I  wonder —  Of  course, 
it  would  be  very  irregular  and  all  that;  but  I 
201 


Truthful     Jane 

fancy  it  could  be  arranged,  with  the  help  of  a 
discreet  attorney — eh?  That  is  to  say,  if  you 
won't  think  better  of  it,  Towle." 

"  I  should  think  it  might  be  done,"  agreed  the 
Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle  seriously.  "  There  can 
be  no  possible  harm  in  it,  certainly,  to  the  dead 
man,  or  to  anyone  else.  And  it's  got  to  be  ar- 
ranged, Robert.  I'm  quite  set  upon  it." 

After  which  the  arch  conspirators  put  their 
heads  together  over  the  details  of  a  plot  which, 
for  the  present  at  least,  does  not  vitally  concern 
the  fortunes  of  Miss  Jane  Evelyn  Aubrey-Blythe, 
who  at  that  moment  was  industriously  engaged 
in  brushing  the  rugs>  which  she  had  carried  out 
from  Mrs.  Belknap's  little  parlor  to  the  untidy 
grass  plot  bristling  with  spent  dandelion  stalks, 
situated  at  the  rear  of  the  Belknap  house. 

Mary  MacGrotty  was  clattering  about  the 
range  inside  the  small  kitchen,  pausing  to  cast  an 
occasional  malevolent  glance  through  the  open 
window.  Master  Belknap  was  engaged  in  calmly 
propelling  his  tricycle  up  and  down  the  sidewalk 
under  the  watchful  eye  of  Mrs.  Belknap,  seated 
202 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

on  the  front  porch  with  her  sewing.  It  was  an 
eminently  peaceful  domestic  scene,  which  gave 
no  sign  of  the  volcanic  possibilities  lurking  under- 
neath the  deceitful  calm  of  its  surface. 

The  Seventh  individual  who  was  in  process  of 
being  inextricably  bound  in  the  fast-spinning 
threads  of  a  watchful  Fate  was  Mr.  John 
Everett,  who  sat  in  a  certain  Broadway  office, 
ostensibly  occupied  with  a  very  dry  legal  paper, 
whose  intricacies  he  supposed  himself  to  be  dili- 
gently mastering.  In  reality  this  young  gen- 
tleman was  uncounted  leagues  away  from  the 
Broadway  office,  wandering  in  lands  of  faerie 
with  Jane.  Jane's  eyes  were  bright  and  Jane's 
lips  were  red  and  tempting;  Jane's  little  hands 
were  clasped  upon  his  arm  as  they  two  walked 
slowly  (all  in  the  land  of  faerie)  across  a  velvet 
lawn,  wherein  neither  plantain  nor  dandelion  had 
ever  encroached,  toward  a  house — a  little  house, 
with  balconies,  perhaps,  and  dormer  windows, 
certainly — Jack  Everett  couldn't  be  altogether 
sure  of  its  outlines,  since  houses  (in  the  land  of 
faerie)  have  a  way  of  changing  while  one  looks, 
203 


Truthful     Jane 

like  dissolving  lantern  views.  All  of  which  was 
very  much  in  the  air  and  exceedingly  foolish,  as 
this  worthy  young  man  told  himself  sternly, 
when  he  found,  at  the  expiration  of  half  of  a 
delightful  hour,  where  he  had  really  been  spend- 
ing his  time. 


204 


CHAPTER   XIII 

MR.  TOWLE  gave  no  sign  of  a  continued  in- 
terest in  Jane's  affairs;  and  because  he  did  not, 
that  imprudent  young  person  felt  herself  to  be 
lonely  and  neglected  beyond  her  deserts.  At 
night,  in  the  stuffy  seclusion  of  the  trunkroom, 
she  wept  large  tears  into  her  thin  pillow,  and 
prayed  with  truly  feminine  inconsistency  and 
fervor  for  numbers  of  things  which  she  as  reso- 
lutely thrust  aside  by  day. 

Twice  she  sought  solace  and  advice  from 
Bertha  Forbes,  and  as  often  spurned  both,  when 
both  were  urged  upon  her. 

"  You  remind  me,"  said  Miss  Forbes  at  last, 
"  of  a  horse  we  used  to  have  out  in  the  country. 
My  brothers  were  burning  the  stumps  out  of  a 
ten-acre  wood  lot  one  summer,  and  that  animal 
would  jump  over  the  fence  and  go  and  roll  in 
the  hot  coals  and  ashes  whenever  he  got  a 

14  205 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

chance  till  his  hide  was  burned  into  holes.  The 
creature  must  have  suffered  frightfully,  but  he 
persisted  in  doing  it  just  the  same.  We  had  to 
tie  him  up  after  a  bit." 

"  Oh,  thanks !  "  cried  Jane  angrily,  "  perhaps 
you  think  I  need  tying  up." 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  agreed  Bertha  Forbes  cheer- 
fully. She  studied  the  pretty,  wilful  face  in 
silence  for  a  few  moments.  "  You  are  much  too 
fond  of  having  your  own  way,"  she  added  sen- 
tentiously,  "  and  one's  own  way  is  so  seldom  the 
path  of  pleasantness  that  the  Bible  tells  about. 
I  know,  for  I've  tried  it." 

She  swallowed  hard  once  or  twice,  then  she 
went  on  in  her  gruffest  voice.  "  Look  here, 
Jane,  I  don't  want  to  see  you  make  the  fool  of 
yourself  that  I  did.  I  somehow  got  the  notion 
that  a  woman  was  just  as  able  as  a  man  to  make 
her  way  in  the  world,  and  that  I  wasn't  going 
to  depend  upon  '  petticoat  push  '  for  my  living. 
I  despised  the  idea  of  being  dependent  upon 
anybody,  and  so  I — I —  Well,  to  cut  a  long 
story  short,  I  told  the  only  man  who  ever  cared 
206 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

enough  about  me  to  want  to  take  care  of  me, 
that  I  could  take  care  of  myself.  I  told  him  so 
three  times  in  all,  I  remember.  The  third  time 
he  said,  '  All  right,  Bertha ;  I  reckon  you'll  have 
to  try.'  A  year  later  he  married  one  of  those 
soft  pink-and-white  little  things  that  I  had  al- 
ways looked  down  upon  as  being  too  insignifi- 
cant to  despise.  Yesterday " 

Bertha  Forbes  paused  to  gulp  painfully  once 
or  twice.  "  Yesterday  that  woman  passed  me 
in  her  carriage.  There  was  a  child  on  either 
side  of  her,  and  she  was  dressed  like  a  flower; 
which  means,  you  know,  a  bit  more  magnifi- 
cently than  Solomon  in  all  his  glory.  She  didn't 
know  me,  of  course.  And  I  tramped  on  down 
to  my  office.  You  know  what  my  work  is,  Jane." 
'  Yes,  I  know,"  and  Jane  blushed  painfully. 
"  I — I  don't  really  like  taking  care  of  myself," 
she  murmured,  after  a  little,  "  but  I  can't  see 
how  I  am  going  to  help  myself  for  a  while.  Any- 
way, you  may  be  happier  in  your  horrid  office 
than  that  woman  in  her  carriage,  unless  she — 
loves  the  man  who  gives  it  to  her."  The  girl 
207 


Truthful     Jane 

finished  with  a  soft,  far-away  look  in  her  brown 
eyes. 

"  Right  you  are !  "  cried  Bertha  Forbes,  bring- 
ing down  her  capable-looking  hand  upon  her 
knee  with  a  businesslike  whack.  "  I'm  not  en- 
vying the  woman ;  not  I.  Fancy  me  with  a  ridic- 
ulous feather  bobbing  over  one  eye,  and  dia- 
monds and  folderols  of  all  sorts  disposed  upon 
my  person.  Wouldn't  I  be  a  holy  show?" 

"  You're  really  very  good  looking,  when  one 
looks  at  you  carefully,  Bertha,"  said  the  girl  seri- 
ously, "  but  you  need  handsome  clothes  to  bring 
out  your  good  points." 

"  Guess  my  points  good  or  bad  will  have  to 
remain  in  innocuous  desuetude  then,"  Miss 
Forbes  said  gruffly.  "  'Nough  said  about  B.  F., 
my  dear.  And  if  you're  set  on  staying  on  in 
your  servile  position,  and  allowing  that  absurdly 
pretentious  little  matron  and  her  infant  to  walk 
all  over  you,  I've  nothing  to  say,  of  course.  Do 
the  men  treat  you  properly,  child?" 

Jane  stared  at  her  friend  resentfully.  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said.  "  Mrs. 
208 


Truthful     Jane 

Belknap's  husband  and  brother  are  both  gentle- 
men, and  I — am  her  servant." 

"That's  all  right,  child;  but  mind  you  keep 
that  good-looking  chap — what's  his  name  ?  Oh, 
Everett — yes;  mind  you  keep  him  at  his  dis- 
tance, whatever  you  do." 

"  Bertha!  "  cried  Jane. 

"  You  needn't  '  Bertha '  me,"  said  Miss 
Forbes  severely.  "  I'm  an  old  maid  all  right; 
but  I  know  a  thing  or  two  if  I  am  forty,  and  now 
that  Mr.  Towle  has  gone  back  to  England " 

"Has  he  gone  back?" 

"Well;  why  not?  You  didn't  want  him  to 
stay  on  in  America,  did  you  ?  " 

"  N-o,"  faltered  Jane,  "  I— I'm  glad  he's 
gone."  Nevertheless  she  felt  a  more  poignant 
throb  of  loneliness  than  usual  as  she  stepped 
down  from  the  trolley  car  in  the  gathering  twi- 
light at  the  close  of  her  "  afternoon  out."  Had 
it  fallen  to  the  lot  of  the  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle 
to  present  himself  at  that  moment  Fortune  might 
have  been  genuinely  kind  instead  of  amusedly 
scornful  in  view  of  his  aspirations. 
209 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

That  same  evening  Mrs.  Belknap  shut  her 
chamber  door  safely  after  a  careful  reconnais- 
sance of  the  hall.  "  Jimmy,  dear,  I'm  almost 
distracted,"  she  confided  to  her  husband. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  dear  girl?"  he 
asked,  "  has  Buster  been  up  to  his  tricks  again? 
Or  is  Mary's  cousin's  wife's  mother's  brother 
'  tuk  bad  wid  cramps  '  ?  " 

Mrs.  Belknap  heaved  a  deep  sigh  as  she  shook 
her  head;  her  pretty  white  forehead  was  puck- 
ered into  unbecoming  folds  of  deep  anxiety. 
"  It's  Jane"  she  said  in  a  sepulchral  whisper. 

"  If  you  don't  like  the  girl,  get  rid  of  her," 
advised  Mr.  Belknap  strongly.  "  I've  thought 
all  along  this  two-maid  business  is  a  mistake  for 
us.  It's  too — er — complicated,  somehow." 

"  Oh,  Jimmy  Belknap !  "  exclaimed  his  wife 
reproachfully;  "  it  was  you  who  advised  me  to 
get  another  girl.  You  simply  made  me  do  it; 
you  know  you  did.  Mary  is  away  so  often, 
and " 

"  Bounce  Mary,  too !  "  cried  the  perfidious 
Mr.  Belknap  cheerfully.  "  Let's  have  a  new 
210 


Truthful     Jane 

deal  all  the  way  'round,  Margaret.  That  Mary's 
a  fraud,  or  I'm  a  duffer." 

"  Oh,  but,  Jimmy,  she's  such  a  good  cook ! 
And  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  get  another  like  her. 
Why,  poor  Mrs.  Bliss  hasn't  had  a  girl  these 
last  two  months,  and  she  tells  me  she's  tried 
everywhere]  And  the  people  across  the  street 
are  alone,  too,  and " 

"  /  can  cook,"  put  in  Mr.  Belknap  confidently. 
"  You  just  let  me  get  the  breakfast.  When  I 
put  my  mind  to  it  there's  nothing  I  can't  do 
about  a  house." 

"  Oh,  you\  "  scoffed  his  wife,  reaching  up  to 
pull  a  lock  of  wavy  hair  on  Mr.  Belknap's  tall 
head.  "  After  you've  gotten  breakfast,  Jimmy, 
it  takes  me  all  the  morning  to  put  the  kitchen  to 
rights  again." 

"  But  my  coffee  is  out  of  sight,"  pursued  Mr. 
Belknap  complacently,  "  and  my  poached  eggs 
can't  be  beat.  I  believe," — boldly, — "  I  could 
make  a  pie !  " 

"  Of  course  you  could,"  agreed  his  wife  iron- 
ically, "  but  I  shouldn't  want  to  be  obliged  to 

211 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

eat  it.  But,  seriously,  Jimmy,  I'm  losing  things 
— almost  every  day  some  little  thing.  Do  you 
suppose  it's  Jane!  " 

Mr.  Belknap  looked  grave.  "  It's  more  likely 
to  be  Mary,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps,"  he  added 
hopefully,  "  it's  Buster.  He's  a  regular  magpie. 
Do  you  remember  about  my  slippers?  " 

Both  parents  paused  to  indulge  in  reminiscent 
laughter  over  the  memory  of  the  missing  slip- 
pers which  had  been  found,  after  days  of  fruit- 
less searching,  in  the  spare  bedroom  under  the 
pillows. 

"  He  was  helping  me  pick  up — the  blessed 
lamb !  "  said  Mrs.  Belknap  fondly.  "  But  I'm 
sure  he  hasn't  picked  up  my  shell  comb,  two 
hat  pins,  half  a  dozen  handkerchiefs,  my  best 
white  silk  stockings,  and  your  college  fraternity 
badge." 

Mr.  Belknap  whistled  sharply.  "What?" 
he  exclaimed,  "  has  my  frat  pin  disappeared?  I 
say,  Margaret,  that  looks  serious!  " 

"  It  was  in  my  jewel  box,"  went  on  Mrs.  Bel- 
knap solemnly,  "  pinned  carefully  onto  the  lin- 
212 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

ing  of  the  cover.  You  know  I  scarcely  ever  wear 
it  now;  I'm  saving  it  for  Buster.  But  I  hap- 
pened to  go  to  the  box  for  something  else  the 
other  day;  and,  Jimmy,  it's  gone!  " 

Mr.  Belknap  fidgeted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 
"  Confound  it !  "  he  murmured.  "  Well,  Mar- 
garet, I'd  advise  you  to  get  rid  of  both  of  'em ; 
and  meanwhile  lock  up  your  valuables.  We  can 
take  our  meals  out  for  a  while,  if  worse  comes 
to  worst." 

"  I  hate  to  think  it's  Jane,"  sighed  Mrs.  Bel- 
knap  ;  "  she  seems  such  a  nice  girl.  But  appear- 
ances are  so  often  deceptive;  I  really  ought  to 
have  insisted  upon  references." 

"From  the  lady  smuggler?"  Mr.  Belknap 
wanted  to  know. 

His  wife  dissolved  in  helpless  laughter.  "  I 
never  believed  that  story  for  a  minute,"  she  said, 
"  nor  the  Jane  Evelyn  Aubrey-Blythe  part, 
either.  She  simply  wanted  me  to  think  that  she 
wasn't  an  ordinary  servant,  poor  thing.  It 
would  be  dreadful  to  go  drifting  around  the 
world,  drudging  first  in  one  house  and  then  in 

2I3 


Truthful    Jane 

another;  wouldn't  it,  Jimmy?  I  am  sure  I  can't 
think  what  sort  of  a  maid  I  should  have  been." 

Mr.  Belknap  surveyed  his  wife  smilingly. 
"  You'd  have  got  me  all  right,  whatever  you 
were  doing,"  he  assured  her. 

"Notnw/ty?" 

"  Sure !  I  never  could  have  resisted  those  eyes, 
dear,  nor  that  mouth — never  in  the  world!" 
And  Mr.  Belknap  illustrated  his  present  suscepti- 
bility to  the  compelling  charms  of  the  features  in 
question  in  a  way  which  caused  his  pretty  wife  to 
laugh  and  blush,  and  assure  him  (fondly)  that 
he  was  a  foolish  boy. 

"  Then  you  really  think  I  would  better  give 
both  the  girls  warning?"  Mrs.  Belknap  asked 
rather  faintly,  visions  of  the  empty  kitchen  with 
its  manifold  tasks  rising  fearfully  in  her  mind. 

"That's  what  I  do  when  there's  a  bad  snarl 
in  the  office,"  Mr.  Belknap  told  her  seriously. 
"  A  good  clean  breeze  of  discipline  that  sweeps 
everything  before  it  is  a  mighty  good  thing  at 
times.  Let  'em  go.  We  got  along  all  right 
before  we  ever  saw  Mary  MacGrotty  or  Jane 
214 


Truthful     Jane 

hyphen-what-you-may-call-her,  either;  and  we 
shall  live  all  the  peacefuller  after  they're  gone." 

"  But  the  missing  articles — don't  you  think 
I  ought  to  make  her  give  them  back?  Isn't  it 
a  bad  thing  for  a  young  girl  like  Jane  to  think 
she  can — be  so  wicked  with  impunity?  " 

"  It  isn't  '  impunity,'  as  you  call  it,  if  she 
loses  her  place." 

"  Yes,  Jimmy,  it  is.  She  could  get  a  dozen 
other  places  to-morrow.  People  are  so  nearly 
frantic  for  help  that  they'll  take  anybody. 
Why,  Mrs.  De  Puyster  Jones  actually  told  me 
that  she  expected  to  lose  a  certain  amount  every 
year.  She  says  that  it  used  to  worry  her  terribly 
when  she  first  began  housekeeping;  but  now  she 
just  mentally  adds  it  to  the  wages,  and  says 
nothing  about  it,  if  it  isn't  too  outrageous." 

Mr.  Belknap  laughed  dubiously.  "  Why,  I 
say,  Margaret,  that's  what  they  call  compound- 
ing felony,  or  mighty  near  it,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  I  don't  believe  I  could  stand  for  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"  Mrs.  De  Puyster  Jones  says  that,  of  course, 
315 


Truthful     Jane 

she  hasn't  a  particle  of  self-respect  left  when  it 
comes  to  servants,"  continued  Mrs.  Belknap  feel- 
ingly. "  But  she's  too  delicate  to  do  her  own 
work,  and  Mr.  Jones  won't  board;  so  what  can 
she  do?  What  can  /  do?  " 

Mr.  Belknap  softly  whistled  a  popular  coon 
song  as  he  walked  about  the  room.  Then  of  a 
sudden  and  with  entire  irrelevance  he  broke  into 
loud  and  cheerful  singing: 

"Oh,  I  may  be  cra-a-zyl 
But  I  ain't  no fool! " 


216 


CHAPTER   XIV 

JOHN  EVERETT  sat  before  the  fire  in  his  sis- 
ter's cheerful  little  parlor  for  a  full  half  hour 
without  uttering  a  word.  He  was  thinking  par- 
ticularly and  persistently  of  Jane,  of  her  proud, 
sensitive  little  face  beneath  its  cloud  of  curling 
dark  hair,  of  her  shy,  haughty  eyes  which  re- 
fused to  meet  his  own,  of  her  curving  mouth 
which  so  often  quivered  like  a  child's  on  the 
brink  of  heart-breaking  sobs.  He  wished  that 
he  knew  more  of  the  girl's  history. 

"  Strange  that  Margaret  takes  so  little  inter- 
est in  her,"  this  altruistic  young  person  said  to 
himself  impatiently,  as  he  glanced  across  at  his 
sister,  who  sat  cuddling  her  sleepy  baby  in  her 
lap  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  fireside.  Mrs.  Bel- 
knap  was  talking  and  laughing  gayly  with  her 
husband,  who  stretched  his  slippered  feet  to  the 
cheerful  blaze  with  an  air  of  huge  content. 
217 


Truthful     Jane 

This  charming  picture  of  domesticity,  which 
he  had  so  frequently  admired  and  even  envied  in 
a  vague,  impersonal  fashion,  suddenly  impressed 
Jack  Everett  as  being  little  else  than  an  exhibi- 
tion of  monstrous  selfishness.  What  right  had 
Margaret  to  sit  there  so  radiantly  happy  and 
unconcerned  while  another  woman,  as  fair  and 
lovable  as  herself,  shed  lonely  tears  in  her 
kitchen.  It  wasn't  right,  by  Jove,  it  was  not, 
he  told  himself  hotly. 

Just  what  provision  did  Margaret  make  for 
the  amusement  and  recreation  of  her  maids  he 
wondered.  His  praiseworthy  curiosity  on  this 
point  presently  got  the  better  of  his  prudence. 
He  arose  deliberately  and  walked  out  into  the 
kitchen. 

Jane  stood  at  the  window  gazing  drearily  into 
the  darkness.  She  glanced  about  at  the  sound 
of  his  step,  and  he  saw  that  her  face  was  pale 
and  that  her  eyes  were  brimming  with  large 
tears. 

John  Everett  laid  two  magazines  on  the  table. 
"  I  have  brought  you  something  to  read,  Jane," 
218 


Truth  fill     Jane 

he  said  kindly.  "  This  kitchen  is  a  dull  place 
of  an  evening;  isn't  it?  " 

Jane's  homesick  eyes  wandered  hopelessly 
about  the  clean,  bare  little  place,  with  its  straight- 
backed  wooden  chairs  set  primly  against  the 
painted  wall,  its  polished  range  and  well-scoured 
table,  still  damp  and  odorous  with  soap  and  wa- 
ter. A  flamboyant  advertisement  of  laundry 
soap  and  the  loud-voiced  nickel  clock  were  the 
sole  ornaments  of  the  scene,  which  was  illumined 
faintly  by  a  small  kerosene  lamp. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  she  said  coldly;  "but  I 
have  no  time  to  read." 

Her  manner  was  inexorable,  but  John  Everett 
saw  that  her  little  fingers  were  trembling. 
"  Jane,"  he  said  softly,  "  I  asked  you  once  if 
I  might  be  your  friend.  You  did  not  answer 
me  at  that  time.  Have  you  thought  about  it 
since?  " 

"  I  did  not  need  to  think  about  it,  sir.  It  is 
impossible." 

"  But  why,  Jane  ?    Do  you  hate  me  ?" 

John  Everett  was  doubtless  quite  unaware  of 
219 


Truthful    Jane 

the  fervor  and  earnestness  which  he  infused  into 
these  two  short  questions.  There  was  much  of 
the  chevalier  sans  peter  et  sans  reproche  about 
this  particular  young  American,  and  all  the 
knightly  enthusiasm  and  tender  indignation  of 
a  singularly  pure  and  impulsive  nature  had  been 
deeply  stirred  at  sight  of  the  lonely  and  friend- 
less English  girl.  He  was,  in  short,  compounded 
from  the  identical  stuff  out  of  which  the  Geraints 
and  Sir  Galahads  and  King  Cophetuas  of  past 
ages  were  made,  and  so,  quite  naturally,  he 
couldn't  help  saying  and  looking  a  great  deal 
more  than  a  modern  young  man  ought  to  say  and 
look  under  like  circumstances. 

Jane  stared  at  him  in  resentful  silence  for  a 
moment  before  she  replied.  "  I  know  nothing  of 
American  ways,"  she  said — which  was  not  en- 
tirely true,  by  the  way,  since  for  years  she  had 
devoured  everything  she  could  lay  her  hands  on 
concerning  America — "  but  in  England  no  gen- 
tleman would  speak  to  a  servant  as  you  have 
spoken  to  me,  unless " 

"  Unless — what,  Jane?  "  he  urged. 
220 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

"  Unless  he  meant  to — insult  her,"  she  said 
haughtily. 

John  Everett's  handsome  face  flushed  scarlet. 

"  Jane,"  he  said  sternly.    "  Look  at  me." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  reluctantly. 

"  Did  you  really  think  I  was  trying  to  insult 
you?" 

"  N-o,"  she  faltered.    "  But " 

"  In  America,"  he  went  on  eagerly,  "  there 
is  nothing  to  prevent  our  being  friends.  Every- 
one works  for  a  living  here.  There  is  no  high 
and  no  low.  In  America  a  man  who  would 
wantonly  insult  a  woman  who  works  is  not  called 
a  gentleman.  He  is  called  a  scoundrel!  And, 
Jane,  whatever  else  I  may  be  I  am  not  a 
scoundrel." 

A  shadowy  smile  glimmered  for  an  instant 
in  Jane's  clear  eyes,  and  dimpled  the  cor- 
ners of  her  serious  mouth.  Then  she  pierced 
his  pretty  sophistry  with  a  question.  "  Does 
Mrs.  Belknap  know  that  you  brought  these 
magazines  to  me,  and  that  you — wish  to  be  my 
friend?" 

15  221 


Truthful     Jane 

"  I  shall  tell  her,"  he  said  firmly.  "  She  will 
understand." 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "  Mrs.  Belknap 
would  be  very  much  displeased,"  she  said. 
"  She  would  not  like  it  if  she  knew  I  was 
talking  to  you  now.  She  would  think  me 
very  bold  and  unmannerly,  I  am  sure.  In- 
deed, as  far  as  I  can  find  out,  being  a  servant 
in  America  is  very  like  being  a  servant  in 
England." 

"Jane,"  he  entreated,  "tell  me:  were  you 
ever  a  servant  in  England  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  thoughtfully,  as  if  half 
minded  to  take  him  into  her  confidence ;  then  her 
eyes  danced.  "  I  was  a  nursery  governess  in  my 
last  place  in  England,"  she  said.  "  And  I  left 
without  a  reference.  Good  night,  sir,  and  thank 
you  kindly  for  the  books,  but  I  don't  care  about 
reading  them." 

She  dropped  him  an  old-fashioned  courtesy, 
with  indescribable  grace  and  spirit,  and  before 
he  could  gather  his  wits  for  another  word  had 
vanished  up  the  dark  stairway.  He  stood  listen- 

222 


Truthful    Jane 

ing  blankly  to  her  little  feet  on  the  stair,  and  so 
Mrs.  Belknap  found  him. 

"  Why,  Jack!  "  she  exclaimed;  "  what  in  the 
world  are  you  doing  in  the  kitchen?  I  heard 
voices  and  I  thought  perhaps  Jane  had  a  beau." 
Her  eyes  fell  upon  the  gay-colored  magazines 
which  lay  upon  the  table.  "  How  did  these 
come  here?  "  she  asked,  a  note  of  displeasure  in 
her  pleasant  voice. 

"  I  brought  them  to  Jane,"  he  said  bluntly. 

"To  Jane?  Why,  Jack  Everett !  What  did 
you  do  that  for?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  do  it?  The  poor  girl  has 
nothing  to  amuse  her  in  this  beastly  little  kitchen. 
And  I  am  sure  she  is  quite  as  capable  of  enjoying 
good  reading  as  anyone  in  the  house." 

"  I  gave  the  girls  several  of  the  old  magazines 
only  last  week,"  Mrs.  Belknap  said  With  an 
offended  lifting  of  her  eyebrows,  "  and  the  very 
next  morning  I  found  Mary  kindling  the  fire 
with  them.  I  never  knew  a  servant  to  appreciate 
really  good  reading.  And  these — well,  all  I 
have  to  say  is  that  I  hope  you'll  consult  me  the 
223 


Truthful     Jane 

next  time  you  wish  to  make  a  present  to  either 
of  the  maids.  I  fancy  an  occasional  dollar  would 
be  in  rather  better  taste,  and  quite  in  a  line  with 
what  they  would  expect  from  you." 

"  Great  heavens,  Margaret !  do  you  suppose 
I  would  offer  money  to  Jane!  " 

"  It  certainly  isn't  necessary,  Jack,  for  you  to 
offer  her  anything;  I  pay  her  good  wages,"  re- 
torted Mrs.  Belknap  crisply.  "  I  merely  said 
that  if  you  felt  it  your  duty  to  give  either  of 
them  anything,  a  dollar " 

Mr.  Everett  turned  on  his  heel,  very  pointedly 
terminating  the  interview,  and  Mrs.  Belknap 
went  back  to  her  fireside  with  a  slightly  worried 
expression  clouding  her  pretty  face. 

"  I  wish  Jack  wouldn't  be  so  perfectly  absurd 
about  poor  people,"  she  said  discontentedly,  as 
she  curled  up  in  a  deep  chair  at  her  husband's 
side.  "  I  don't  mind  his  hobnobbing  with 
the  butcher  and  discussing  socialism  with  the 
plumber,  but  when  it  comes  to  acting  as  pur- 
veyor of  good  literature  for  the  kitchen,  why  it 
strikes  me  as  being  a  little  tiresome." 
224 


Truthful    Jane 

"  What  has  our  philanthropic  young  friend 
been  doing  now?"  Mr.  Belknap  wanted  to 
know. 

"  Presenting  an  offering  of  magazines  to  Jane 
in  the  kitchen.  I  declare,  Jimmy,  this  is  the 
last  straw!  I  shall  certainly  dismiss  the  girl  at 
the  end  of  her  month.  I  shan't  do  it  before, 
though,  because  I  have  some  shopping  to  do,  and 
I  must  finish  my  sewing  before  I  undertake  the 
care  of  Buster  again.  He  is  devoted  to  Jane; 
poor  little  lamb  !  " 

"  Buster  is  a  young  person  of  excellent  taste," 
murmured  Mr.  Belknap.  "  And  so  " — medita- 
tively— "  is  Jack." 

'Jimmy  Belknap,  what  do  you  mean?"  de- 
manded his  wife,  with  a  nervous  little  clutch  at 
his  sleeve.  "  You  don't  suppose " 

Mr.  Belknap  chuckled.  "  Don't  tempt  a  man 
so,  Madge,"  he  entreated;  "  it's  so  delightfully 
easy  to  get  a  rise  out  of  you  that  I  really  can't 
resist  it  once  in  a  while." 

"  Then  you  don't  think " 

"  My  mind  is  an  innocuous  blank,  dear,"  he 
225 


Truth  f u  1     Jane 

assured  her  gravely.  "  I  don't  '  think,'  *  mean  ' 
or  '  suppose  '  anything  which  would  give  you  a 
minute's  uneasiness.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mar- 
garet, suppose  we  cut  out  both  the  girls,  get  our 
own  breakfasts,  take  our  dinners  at  Miss  Pit- 
man's, and  then  we  can  afford  one  of  those  dinky 
little  runabouts.  How  would  that  strike  you  ?  " 

"We'll  do  it!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Belknap 
rapturously. 

Then  these  two  happy  people  settled  down  to 
one  of  those  periods  of  castle  building  in  the 
air  which  young  married  lovers  delight  in,  and 
upon  whose  airy  foundations  many  a  solid  super- 
structure of  after  life  is  reared.  And,  being 
thus  pleasantly  engaged,  neither  of  them  gave 
another  thought  to  the  two  young  persons  un- 
der their  roof,  both  of  whom,  being  alone  and 
lonely,  were  thinking  of  each  other  with  varying 
emotional  intensity. 

"  I  must  find  out  more  about  her,"  John  Ever- 
ett was  resolving.  "  Margaret  appears  incapable 
of  appreciating  her." 

"  I  must  be  careful  and  not  allow  him  to 
226 


Truthful     Jane 

talk  to  me  any  more,"  Jane  was  deciding  with 
equal  firmness.  "  I  can't  help  liking  him  a  little, 
for  he  is  the  only  person  who  has  been  kind  to 
me  in  years."  Which  statement  was,  of  course, 
eminently  unfair  to  Mr.  Robert  Aubrey-Blythe, 
as  well  as  to  his  noble  consort,  Lady  Agatha, 
both  of  whom  had  repeatedly  assured  each  other, 
within  the  past  few  weeks,  that  Jane  had  proved 
herself  most  ungrateful  after  all  their  kindness 
to  her. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  ingratitude  thus 
persistently  dwelt  upon  proves  a  most  effectual 
palliative  to  one's  natural  anxieties  concerning 
another.  Lady  Agatha,  in  particular,  had  found 
the  practice  of  the  greatest  use  of  late.  She  had 
been  able  by  means  of  it  to  dismiss  all  unpleas- 
ant reflections  regarding  her  husband's  niece, 
which  might  otherwise  have  arisen  to  disquiet 
her. 

As  for  Jane,  she  seldom  thought  bitterly  of 

Lady  Agatha  in  the  far  country  into  which  her 

rash  pride  and  folly  had  brought  her.    Each  day 

of  her  hated  servitude  brought  the  time  of  her 

227 


Truthful    Jane 

deliverance  and  her  return  to  England  so  much 
the  nearer.  Just  what  she  meant  to  do  when  she 
got  there  she  did  not  for  the  present  choose  to 
consider.  From  the  little  window  of  her  attic 
chamber  she  could  catch  wide  glimpses  of  the  sea, 
which  stretched  vast  and  lonely  between  this 
strange  new  country  and  the  land  of  her  birth, 
for  which  she  longed  with  the  passionate  regret 
of  a  homesick  child.  The  shore  itself  was  not 
far  distant,  and  one  of  Jane's  most  agreeable 
duties  thus  far  had  been  to  convoy  Master 
Belknap  to  the  beach,  where  he  delighted  to  dig 
in  the  warm  sand. 

The  very  next  day  after  Jane's  prudent  rejec- 
tion of  John  Everett's  proffered  friendship  her 
mistress  announced  her  intention  of  spending  the 
day  in  town.  "  In  the  afternoon,  Jane,  you  may 
take  Buster  to  the  beach,"  said  Mrs.  Belknap. 
"  It  will  do  the  darling  good.  Be  careful  to 
watch  him  every  minute,  Jane,  and  do  not  allow 
him  to  play  with  other  children,"  had  been  her 
parting  injunction. 

There  were  few  persons  to  be  seen  when  Jane 
228 


Truthful     Jane 

and  her  little  charge  alighted  from  the  trolley 
car.  The  yellow  sand  lay  warnVand  glistening 
under  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun,  and  along  the 
blue  horizon  drifted  myriads  of  white  sails  and 
the  vanishing  smoke  of  steamers  coming  and 
going  in  this  busiest  of  all  waterways.  Jane  sat 
down  in  the  sand  with  a  sigh  of  happy  relief, 
while  Master  Belknap  fell  industriously  to  work 
with  a  diminutive  shovel. 

"  Jane !  "  he  said  earnestly,  "  Jane !  " 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Jane  absent-mindedly. 

"  I  yuve  'oo,  Jane !  V — V  I'm  doin'  to  dig 
a  dreat  big  hole,  an'  'nen — an'  'nen  I'm  doin'  to 
build  a  dreat  big  house  for  'oo,  Jane  1 " 

"  Yes,  dear,"  repeated  Jane  sweetly.  The 
wind  sweeping  in  across  leagues  of  softly  rolling 
waves  brought  a  lovely  color  to  the  girl's  face. 
She  threw  aside  her  hat  and  let  the  wild  air  blow 
the  little  curls  about  her  forehead.  It  pleased 
her  to  imagine  that  the  fresh,  salty  savor  carried 
with  it  a  hint  of  blossoming  hedgerows  and  the 
faint  bitter  fragrance  of  primroses  abloom  in 
distant  English  woods. 

229 


Truthful     Jane 

The  little  boy  trotted  away  with  his  tiny  red 
pail  in  quest  of  clam  shells;  Jane  followed  him 
lazily,  with  her  dreaming  eyes.  Then  she  sprang 
to  her  feet,  the  color  deepening  in  her  cheeks  at 
sight  of  the  tall,  broad-shouldered  figure  which 
was  approaching  them  at  a  leisurely  pace.  Mas- 
ter Belknap  had  dropped  his  shovel  and  pail,  and 
was  running  across  the  sand  as  fast  as  his  short 
legs  could  carry  him. 

"  Uncle  Jack !  Uncle  Jack !  "  he  shouted  glee- 
fully. "  Here  we  are,  Uncle  Jack !  I  digged  a 
— dreat — big  hole,  an' — an',  Uncle  Jack,  I'm 
doin'  to  build  a  dreat  big  house — all  for  my 
Jane!" 


230 


CHAPTER   XV 

JOHN  EVERETT  answered  the  carping  question 
in  Jane's  eyes  with  gay  composure.  "  I  promised 
Buster  yesterday  that  I  would  come  home  early 
and  join  him  at  the  beach,"  he  said  coolly.  "  I 
want  to  have  a  hand  in  digging  that  hole,  my- 
self," he  added,  rescuing  the  abandoned  shovel 
from  a  sandy  entombment. 

Jane  surveyed  him  gravely.  "  If  you  are 
going  to  be  here  all  the  afternoon,"  she  said, 
"  perhaps  you  will  not  mind  if  I  go  home. 
There  are  windows  to  clean,  and  I  am  sure  Mrs. 
Belknap  would  not  mind  my  leaving  Master 
Buster  in  your  care,  sir." 

His  crestfallen  face  afforded  the  girl  a  tran- 
sient amusement  as  she  walked  across  the  sand 
in  quest  of  her  hat.  But  Fate,  in  the  small  per- 
son of  the  infant,  happily  intervened  as  she  was 
firmly  inserting  her  hat  pins  and  otherwise  preen- 
ing herself  for  hasty  flight. 
231 


Truthful     Jane 

;<  Where  'oo  doin',  Jane?  "  he  demanded  im- 
periously. 

"  I  am  going  home,"  replied  Jane,  with  a  con- 
ciliatory smile.  "  Mr.  Everett  will  stay  with 
you,  dear." 

"  No  1  "  murmured  the  sagacious  infant,  lay- 
ing hold  of  the  girl's  gown  with  a  determined 
hand.  "  N-o-o !  "  The  last  word  ended  in  a 
loud  wail  of  protest. 

Jane  flushed  uncomfortably  under  John  Ever- 
ett's observant  eyes,  as  she  stooped  to  gently  dis- 
engage herself.  "  I  must  go,  dear,"  she  re- 
peated. "  I  have  some  work  to  do  at  home." 

The  child  responded  by  throwing  both  chubby 
arms  about  her  neck  and  wailing  discordantly 
in  her  ear. 

"  Come,  come,  Buster!  "  exclaimed  his  uncle 
wrathfully;  "you  can  stop  that  howling.  Jane 
won't  leave  you.  I'll  take  myself  off  instead, 
as  I  see  I  am  decidedly  out  of  it." 

The  small  boy  instantly  relaxed  his  hold  upon 
the  girl  and  flew  to  his  uncle.  "  No-o !  "  he 
shouted.  "  I  want  my  Jane,  an' — an'  I  want  'oo, 
232 


Truthful     Jane 

Uncle  Jack!  "  He  clambered  up  his  accommo- 
dating relative's  trouser  leg,  and  was  assisted  to 
a  triumphant  perch  upon  that  young  gentleman's 
broad  shoulder,  where  he  beamed  upon  Jane 
with  innocent  delight.  "  I  yuve  my  Uncle 
Jack,"  he  announced  conclusively,  "  and  I  yuve 
my  Jane!  " 

"  That's  all  right,  young  fellow,  and  a  proper 
sentiment  too,"  murmured  John  Everett.  Then 
he  cast  a  pleading  look  at  Jane.  "  Why  persist 
in  spoiling  a  good  time  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I'll  play 
in  the  sand  like  a  good  boy,  and  I  promise  you  I 
won't  teach  Buster  any  bad  words,  nor  throw 
wet  sand  on  his  clean  frock." 

Jane's  pretty  face  was  a  study.  "  Very  well, 
sir,"  she  said  coldly.  "  It  is  not  for  me  to  say, 
I  suppose."  Then  she  sat  down  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance from  the  hole  in  the  sand — in  which  the 
small  diplomat,  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his 
coup,  immediately  resumed  operations — and 
fixed  her  eyes  on  the  sail-haunted  horizon.  All 
the  sense  of  happy  freedom  which  the  wind  had 
brought  her  from  across  the  sea  had  suddenly 
233 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

vanished.  She  was  gallingly  conscious  of  the 
bonds  of  her  servitude  and  of  the  occasional 
friendly  glances  which  the  big,  pleasant-faced 
young  fellow  on  the  sand  bestowed  upon  her. 

"  I  hate  him !  "  she  told  herself  passionately. 
"  If  he  knew  who  I  was  he  would  not  dare  call 
me  '  Jane,'  and  smile  at  me  in  that  insufferably 
familiar  way.  It  is  only  because  I  am  a  servant. 
Oh,  I  hate  him !  "  Her  little  hands  clenched 
themselves  till  the  nails  almost  pierced  the  tender 
palms,  whereon  divers  hardened  spots  told  of  un- 
accustomed toil. 

It  was  not  an  auspicious  moment  for  John 
Everett  to  approach  and  utter  a  commonplace 
remark  about  a  passing  steamer.  Nevertheless 
he  did  it,  being  anxious  in  his  blundering  mascu- 
line way  to  cheer  this  forlorn  little  exile,  who 
he  felt  sure  was  in  dire  need  of  human  sympathy. 

Jane  made  no  sort  of  reply,  and  after  a 
doubtful  pause  he  ventured  to  seat  himself  at 
her  side.  "  That  white  tower  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  bay  is  one  of  the  features  of  '  Dream- 
land,' "  he  observed.  "  At  night  one  can  see 
234 


Truthful     Jane 

it  for  a  long  distance  sparkling  with  electric 
lights." 

Still  no  answer.  He  studied  the  girl's  deli- 
cate profile  in  silence  for  a  minute.  "  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  see  it  sometime,  Jane  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  turned  upon  him  suddenly.  "  How — how 
dare  you — call  me  '  Jane,'  and — and —  Oh, 
I  hate  you !  "  Her  kindling  eyes  scorched  him 
for  an  instant,  then  before  he  could  collect  his 
scattered  senses  she  burst  into  wild  sobbing. 
'  You  wouldn't  dare  treat  me  so  if  I  was  at — 
at  home,"  she  went  on  between  her  sobs;  "  but 
you  think  because  I  am  all  alone  here  and — and 
working  for  wages  that  you — can  amuse  your- 
self with  me.  Oh,  I  wish  you  would  go  away 
and  never  speak  to  me  again !  " 

His  face  had  paled  slowly.  "  I  don't  even 
know  your  name,"  he  said  quietly.  "  But  I  as- 
sure you,  Miss — Jane,  it  has  been  very  far  from 
my  mind  to  annoy  you,  or  to " 

He  stopped  short  and  looked  at  her  fixedly. 
"  I  must  put  myself  right  with  you,  Jane,"  he 
said  at  last.     "  You  must  listen  to  me." 
235 


Truthful    Jane 

Her  low  weeping  suddenly  ceased,  and  she 
lifted  her  proud  little  face  all  wet  with  angry 
tears  to  his.  "  I  will  listen,"  she  said  haughtily. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  altogether  understand 
what  you  mean  to  accuse  me  of,"  he  said,  choos- 
ing his  words  carefully;  "  but  I  will'tell  you  just 
why  I  have  tried  to  make  friends  with  you.  I 
will  admit  that  men  in  my  station  do  not  as  a 
rule  make  friends  with  servant  maids."  He  said 
this  firmly  and  watched  her  wince  under  the 
words.  "  But,  Jane,  you  are  not  at  all  like  an 
ordinary  servant.  I  saw  that  the  first  time  I  met 
you.  I  fancied  that  you  had,  somehow,  stumbled 
out  of  your  right  place  in  the  world,  and  I 
thought — very  foolishly,  no  doubt — that  I  might 
help  you  to  get  back  to  it." 

Jane's  eyes  kindled.  "  I  can  help  myself  to 
get  back  to  it,"  she  murmured,  "  and  I  will !  " 

"  That  is  why  I  wished  to  help  you,"  he  went 
on,  without  paying  heed  to  her  interruption, 
"  and  I  will  confess  to  you  that  I  came  down 
here  this  afternoon  on  purpose  to  have  a  talk 
with  you.  I  meant — "  he  paused  to  search  her 
236 


Truth  f u  1     Jane 

face  gravely.    "  I  meant  to  ask  you  to  allow  me 
to  send  you  home  to  England." 

"  Oh,  no— no  1  "  she  protested. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  remain  in  America,  then?  " 
he  asked.  "  Are  you  satisfied  with  being  a  do- 
mestic servant?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  doggedly.  "  I  am  going  back 
when — when  I  have  earned  the  money  for  my 
passage.  I  ought  never  to  have  come,"  she 
added  bitterly.  "  I  ought  to  have  endured  the 
ills  I  knew." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  ills  you  were  endur- 
ing in  England?"  he  asked. 

"  I — I  was  living  with  relatives,"  she  faltered, 
"  and " 

"  Were  they  unkind  to  you?  " 
4  They   didn't  mean  to   be,"   acknowledged 
Jane.     "  I  can  see  that  now.     But  I  fancied — I 
thought  I  should  be  happier  if  I  were  independ- 
ent.    So  I " 

"  You  fell  into  trouble  as  soon  as  you  stepped 
out  of  the  safe  shelter  of  your  home,"  he  fin- 
ished for  her.  "  You  are  right  in  thinking  that 

16  237 


Truthful     Jane 

you  should  never  have  come,  and  yet —  Now 
won't  you  allow  me  to — advance  the  money  for 
your  passage  ?  I  assure  you  I  shall  be  very  busi- 
nesslike about  it.  I  shall  expect  you  to  return 
every  penny  of  it.  For  I  " — he  paused  to  smile 
half  humorously  to  himself — "  I  am  a  poor 
young  man,  Jane,  and  I  have  to  work  for  my 
living." 

She  looked  up  into  the  strong,  kind  face  he 
bent  toward  her.  "  I — thank  you,"  she  said 
slowly,  "  and  I  beg  your  pardon,  too.  I  see 
now  that  you  are — that  you  meant  to  be  my 
friend." 

"And  you  will  accept  my  friendship?"  he 
asked  eagerly.  "  You  will  allow  me  to  help  you 
to  return  to  England?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  could  have  borrowed 
the  money  from  Bertha  Forbes,  if  I  had  chosen 
to  do  it,"  she  said.  "  She  wanted  to  send  me 
back  at  once.  But  " — with  an  obstinate  tighten- 
ing of  her  pretty  lips — "  I  thought  since  I  had 
gotten  myself  into  this  absurd  plight  by  my  own 
foolishness  I  ought  to  get  myself  out  of  it.  And 
238 


Truthful     Jane 

that  is  why  I  am  working  for  wages  in  your 
sister's  house.  I  shall  soon  have  earned  money 
enough  to  go  home  by  second  cabin;  but  I  don't 
mind  how  I  go,  if  only  I  go !  " 

Her  eyes  wandered  away  to  the  dim  blue 
horizon  which  lay  beyond  "  The  Hook,"  and  he 
saw  her  sensitive  mouth  quiver. 

"  Do  you  know  you're  showing  a  whole  lot 
of  splendid  grit,"  he  murmured  appreciatively. 
"  I  know  just  how  you  feel." 

"  Now  that  I  have  told  you.  all  this,"  she 
went  on  hurriedly,  her  eyes  returning  from  their 
wistful  excursion  seaward,  "  you  will  understand 
why  I  do  not — why  I  cannot — "  she  blushed  and 
faltered  into  silence. 

"  You  really  haven't  told  me  very  much  after 
all,"  he  said  gravely.  "  Don't  you  think  between 
friends,  now,  that " 

"  But  we  are  not  friends,"  she  interrupted  him 
hastily.  "  That  is  just  what  I  wished  to  say.  I 
have  explained  to  you  that  I  have  friends  in 
England,  and  I  have  Miss  Forbes  besides.  So 
there  is  no  reason  at  all  why  you  should  give 
239 


Truthful     Jane 

me  or  my  affairs  another  thought,  and  I  beg  " 
—haughtily — "  that  you  will  not." 

"  O  Jane!  why?  "  he  urged  anxiously. 

She  cast  an  impatient  glance  at  him.  "  You 
are  so — stupid,"  she  murmured  resentfully. 
"  But  then  you  are  an  American,  and  I  suppose 
you  cannot  help  it." 

He  grimaced  ruefully  at  this  British  taunt. 
"  I  fear  I  shall  have  to  allow  the  damaging  fact 
of  my  nationality,"  he  said;  "but  I  fail  to  un- 
derstand how  it  is  going  to  stand  in  the  way 
of  my  thinking  of  you  at  intervals.  If  you 
knew  more  about  Americans,  Jane,  you  would 
see  that  it  is  mainly  on  that  account  I  am  bound 
to  do  it." 

"  You'll  be  obliged  to  keep  your  thoughts  to 
yourself  then,"  she  told  him,  "  for  as  long  as 
I  am  in  Mrs.  Belknap's  employ  I  am,  unde- 
niably, her  servant  and,  hence,  nothing  to 
you.  Do  you  understand?  Because  if  you  do 
not,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  find  another  situation 


at  once." 


"Oh,    no;   don't  do  that!"   he   protested. 
240 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Look  here,  Jane,  I'm  not  quite  such  a  duffer  as 
you  seem  to  think.  I  see  your  point,  and  I'll 
agree  not  to  bother  you  after  this.  But  I  won't 
promise  never  to  think  of  you  again.  On  the 
contrary,  I  mean  to  think  of  you  a  great  deal; 
may  I,  Jane?  " 

Jane  arose.  "  It  is  quite  time  to  be  going 
home,"  she  said  coldly.  "  I  must  ask  you  not  to 
speak  to  me  again,  Mr.  Everett,  and  please  come 
home  on  another  car." 

"  But  sometime,  Jane,  after  this  farce  is 
played  to  its  finis,  don't  you  think " 

She  turned  her  back  upon  him  deliberately  and 
walked  away  toward  the  trolley  station,  leading 
Master  Belknap  by  the  hand,  meek  and  unresist- 
ing. During  all  this  time  the  little  boy  had  been 
contentedly  laboring  in  the  removal  of  sand  from 
a  hole  of  wide  dimensions;  his  eyes  were  heavy 
with  fatigue  when  the  girl  set  him  gently  in  his 
place  on  the  homeward  bound  car.  "  I  yuve  'oo, 
Jane,"  he  murmured  sweetly,  laying  his  curly 
head  in  her  lap.  "  I'm  doin'  to  build  'oo  a — 
dreat,  big  house !  " 

241 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  soundly  asleep, 
and  Jane,  who  had  tried  in  vain  to  awaken 
him,  was  forced  to  lift  his  limp  weight  in  her 
slender  arms  when  the  car  finally  stopped  at  her 
destination. 

"  Give  the  boy  to  me,  Jane,"  said  an  author- 
itative voice  at  her  side. 

She  looked  up  in  real  vexation.  "  I 
thought,"  she  said  reproachfully,  "  that  you 
promised " 

"  I  promised  not  to  bother  you,  Jane;  but  I 
didn't  say  I  would  never  offer  to  help  you 
again.  Did  you  suppose  for  an  instant  that  I 
would  allow  you  to  carry  that  boy  up  this 
hill?" 

Jane  crossed  the  street  without  a  word,  and 
speeding  across  lots,  by  way  of  a  daisied  meadow, 
reached  the  house  first. 

She  was  met  at  the  door  by  her  mistress. 
"Why,  Jane,  where  is  Buster?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Belknap  anxiously. 

"  Master  Buster  went  to  sleep  on  the  way 
home,  ma'am,"  explained  Jane,  blushing  guiltily, 
242 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  and  Mr.  Everett,  who  chanced  to  be  on  the 
same  car,  kindly  offered  to  bring  him  up  the 
hill." 

"Oh!"    said    Mr.    Everett's   sister,    rather 
blankly. 


243 


CHAPTER   XVI 

OPPORTUNITY  has  been  depicted  as  a  sturdy 
youth,  girded  for  swift  flight,  tapping  lightly  at 
one's  door  at  uncertain  intervals;  then,  when  one 
opens  as  quickly  as  may  be,  more  often  than  not 
showing  but  a  pair  of  mischievous  heels  retreat- 
ing into  the  mists  of  yesterdays — "  Gone,"  we 
are  told  solemnly,  "  never  to  return !  "  A  truer 
philosophy  recognizes  opportunity  as  the  child 
of  desire,  and  wholly  dependent  for  continued 
existence  upon  its  parent.  So  when  opportunity 
comes  a-knocking  (as  happens  every  day  and 
wellnigh  every  hour  of  the  day)  let  desire  make 
haste  to  run  and  open  to  its  child,  knowing  well 
that  opportunity  is  but  a  weakling,  and  must  be 
sheltered  and  nourished  lest  it  perish  with  cold 
and  hunger  on  the  very  threshold  that  gave  it 
birth. 

A  lover,  whether  or  no  he  be  an  acknowledged 
244 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

lover  in  his  own  eyes  and  in  the  eyes  of  his  world, 
needs  no  teaching  as  to  the  relationship  his  eager 
desires  bear  to  his  fleeting  opportunities.  In  his 
case,  at  least,  opportunity  obeys  desire,  as  a  child 
should  ever  obey  its  parent;  and  this,  if  the  mad 
world  would  only  pause  to  examine,  is  the  chief 
reason  why  lovers  are  of  all  men  happy. 

All  of  which  is  submitted  as  a  simple  preamble 
to  a  simpler  statement;  -videlicet:  because  John 
Everett  wished  to  see  and  converse  with  the  un- 
confessed  object  of  his  affections,  he  found  ample 
opportunity  to  do  so,  and  this  despite  the  fact 
that  Jane  Blythe  herself  did  not  wish  it.  And 
here  it  should  be  observed  that  there  is  a  wide 
disparity  in  the  quality  and  character  of  de- 
sire. John  Everett's  desire  to  know  Jane  was 
natural,  strong,  vigorous,  true.  Jane's  desire  to 
keep  the  young  man  at  a  distance  was — to  put  it 
in  the  form  of  a  vulgar  colloquialism — some- 
thing of  a  fake.  Therefore  being  a  mere  crea- 
ture of  straw  it  stood  no  sort  of  a  chance  against 
the  bold,  aggressive,  opportunity-seeking  wishes 
of  John — as,  indeed,  it  did  not  deserve.  Fraud, 
245 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

even  though  it  be  a  nice,  modest,  girlish,  innocent 
little  fraud  like  the  one  Jane  was  cherishing  in 
her  heart  of  hearts,  should  never  be  tolerated. 

And  so,  although  Jane  frowned  upon  John  on 
every  suitable  occasion,  John  the  more  deter- 
minedly smiled  upon  Jane,  and  she,  being  young 
and  lovely  and,  after  all,  a  mere  woman,  grew 
(quite  stealthily)  prettier  and  sweeter  and  more 
worthy  to  be  smiled  upon  with  every  passing 
hour.  And  this  despite  the  vinegar  and  gall 
which  she  was  forced  to  mingle  with  her  daily 
food  partaken  of  in  the  Belknap  kitchen  under 
the  glowering  eyes  of  Mary  MacGrotty. 

But  opportunity  when  worthily  fathered  and 
properly  nourished,  as  has  been  noted,  frequently 
grows  into  surprising  stature  and,  moreover,  de- 
velops aspects  which  astonish  even  its  fondest 
well-wisher.  It  is  at  this  point  that  Providence, 
luck,  fate — what  you  will — is  apt  to  take  a  hand, 
and  then — things  happen. 

The  thirtieth  day  of  May  dawned  clear  and 
beautiful  after  a  week  of  rain  and  cloudy 
weather,  and  Mrs.  Belknap  looking  anxiously 
246 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

from  her  window  in  the  early  morning  gave  a 
girlish  shout  of  joy.  "  What  a  glorious  day  for 
our  ride  with  the  Sloans  in  their  new  motor 
car!  "  she  cried.  "  You  haven't  seen  it,  Jimmy; 
but  it  is  the  darlingest  thing,  all  shiny  and  cush- 
iony, with  big  lunch  baskets  on  the  side  and  a 
lovely,  deep,  horn  arrangement  that  trails  out 
behind  on  the  breeze  like  an  organ  chord." 

'  The  lunch  baskets  appeal  to  my  most  es- 
thetic sensibilities,"  observed  Jimmy  blandly. 
"  I  suppose  the  organ  chord  arrangement  is  de- 
signed to  distract  the  mind  of  the  stationary  pub- 
lic from  the  beastly  smell  of  the  thing.  Did  you 
say  the  kid  was  asked  too?  " 

"  Certainly  Buster  is  going,"  said  his  wife. 
"  Do  you  think  for  a  moment  I'd  go  off  pleasur- 
ing and  leave  that  blessed  lamb  at  home  all  day  ? 
But  " — lowering  her  voice — "  Mrs.  Sloan  didn't 
invite  Jack,  and  I'm  awfully  iuorried\  " 

"About  what,  dear?  Jack  won't  mind;  he 
can  put  in  the  day  in  any  one  of  a  dozen  ways." 

"  Of  course  he  can ;  but  there's  one  way  I  don't 
want  him  to  put  it  in." 

247 


Truthful     Jane 

'  What  do  you  mean,  dear  girl?  Don't  look 
so  doleful!  One  would  suppose  you'd  planned 
to  spend  the  day  in  the  cemetery." 

"  That's  really  the  way  one  ought  to  spend  it, 
I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Belknap  patriotically.  She 
was  still  drawing  her  pretty  brows  together  in  a 
worried  little  frown;  then  she  turned  suddenly 
upon  her  husband.  '  You  know  what  I  said  to 
you  about  Jack?  I've  been  watching  him,  and 
I'm  awfully  afraid " 

Mr.  Belknap  was  shaving,  and  at  this  unlucky 
instant  he  cut  himself  slightly.  "  Nonsense, 
Margaret !  "  he  exclaimed  in  an  appropriate  tone 
of  voice,  "  Jack  doesn't  need  watching  any  more 
than  I  do;  and  if  he  did,  it  isn't  your  place  to 
do  it." 

"  Why,  Jimmy  Belknap,  how  can  you  say 
such  an  unkind  thing!  Am  I  not  Jack's  only 
sister?  Of  course  I  ought  to  care  whether  he 
is  happy  or  not,  and  I " 

"  He  seems  to  be  happy  enough  lately,"  haz- 
arded Mr.  Belknap,  pausing  to  strop  his  razor 
with  a  slight  access  of  irritation. 
248 


Truthful     Jane 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  mean,"  put  in  his 
wife  triumphantly;  "  don't  you  see,  dear?  Jack 
does  seem  happy,  and  that  is  why  I  am  so 
uneasy." 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  say  that  as  his  only 
sister  you  wish  to  file  a  demurrer  in  the  case? 
If  So,  I'll " 

"Jimmy/" 

Mr.  Belknap  leaned  forward  and  eyed  his 
lathered  countenance  intently  as  he  applied  the 
glittering  edge  of  his  blade  to  his  outstretched 
throat. 

"  It  always  makes  me  shiver  to  see  you  do 
that,"  breathed  Mrs.  Belknap;  "  if  that  horrid 
thing  should  slip !  But  as  I  was  saying,  Jimmy, 
I  can't  think  how  to  manage  about  the  girls  to- 
day. It  seems  a  pity  to  ask  them  to  stay  at  home ; 
though,  of  course,  we  shall  be  awfully  hungry 
for  dinner  when  we  get  home,  and  if  Mary  goes 
out,  more  than  likely  she'll  not  be  back  in  time 
to  get  dinner  at  all.  And  as  for  Jane " 

"  By  all  means  let  them  both  go  out  for  the 
day,  my  dear;  you've  really  no  right  to  keep 
249 


Truthful    Jane 

them  in  on  a  legal  holiday.  But  I  confess  I  don't 
follow  your  '  as  I  was  saying ' ;  you  weren't 
saying  a  word  about  the  servants.  You  were 
talking  about  Jack,  and  about  Jack's  being 
happy." 

Mrs.  Belknap  looked  justly  offended.  "If 
you  would  pay  a  little  more  attention  to  what 
I  say  to  you,  Jimmy,  you  wouldn't  appear  so 
stupid  on  occasions.  No;  I'll  not  explain  fur- 
ther; you'd  merely  make  it  an  excuse  to  tease, 
and  very  likely  you'd  report  the  whole  conver- 
sation to  Tom  Sloan  as  a  huge  joke,  and  the  two 
of  you  would  roar  over  it;  then  I  should  be 
obliged  to  explain  to  Mrs.  Sloan,  and  she's  a 
perfect  sieve.  The  whole  affair  would  be  all 
over  town  in  no  time,  and  that  I  simply  could 
not  endure." 

"  I'm  safe  this  time,  Margaret,"  he  assured 
her  solemnly;  "  for,  honest  Injin,  I  haven't  a 
ghost  of  an  idea  as  to  what  you're  trying  to 
get  at!" 

"  I  know  what  I'll  do,"  cogitated  his  wife, 
waving  him  aside.  "  I'll  manage  it  so  that  the 
250 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

girls  shall  leave  the  house  a  full  hour  before  we 
do;  they'll  go  to  the  city,  of  course.  And  I'll 
keep  Jack  here  till  we're  off;  by  that  time  Jane 
will  be  well  out  of  the  way,  and " 

"O  Janel" 

"  I  see  you  are  beginning  to  understand 
nowl  "  said  Mrs.  Belknap;  then  she  added 
plaintively,  "  I  wish  I'd  never  hired  that  girl, 
Jimmy !  " 

"  I  suppose  there's  very  little  use  in  asking 
why  you  persist  in  hanging  on  to  her?"  said 
Mr.  Belknap. 

"  Don't  you  see,  dear,  it  wouldn't  do  a  bit 
of  good  to  send  her  away  now;  indeed,  I 
feel  as  if  it  were  almost  my  duty  to  keep 
her."  Mrs.  Belknap  said  this  with  the  resigned 
air  of  a  martyr;  and  Mr.  Belknap  wisely  fore- 
bore  to  make  any  comment  upon  the  surprising 
statement. 

It  was  delightfully  fresh  and  breezy  on  the 
trolley  car;  and  Jane  on  the  front  seat  keenly  en- 
joyed the  noisy  rush  through  the  green,  daisied 
251 


Truthful     Jane 

fields  and  woods  cool  with  shade  and  fragrant 
with  wild  flowers  and  young  ferns.  In  the 
streets  of  the  villages  through  which  the  car 
passed  on  its  way  to  the  ferry  there  was  a  bril- 
liant flutter  of  flags,  the  unfamiliar  stars  and 
stripes  looking  strange  and  foreign  in  Jane's 
English  eyes.  Everywhere  there  were  holiday 
crowds,  little  girls  in  white  frocks  and  shoes, 
bearing  wreaths  and  bunches  of  flowers;  little 
boys  in  their  best  clothes  with  tiny  flags  in  their 
buttonholes;  women  carrying  babies,  and  men 
carrying  lunch  baskets,  and  other  and  bigger 
babies;  showily  dressed  youitg  girls  with  their 
beaux;  besides  a  multitude  of  the  unattached 
eagerly  going  somewhere.  Jane  felt  herself  to 
be  very  small  and  lonely  and  far  from  home  in 
the  midst  of  it  all. 

She  had  planned  to  spend  her  unexpected  holi- 
day with  Bertha  Forbes,  and  when  at  the  end 
of  her  journey  she  was  informed  by  Miss 
Forbes's  landlady  that  Miss  Forbes  had  de- 
parted to  New  Jersey  for  the  day,  she  turned 
away  with  a  feeling  of  disappointment  which 
252 


Truthful     Jane 

almost  amounted  to  physical  pain.  What  should 
she  do  ?  Where  should  she  go,  alone  in  the  great 
unfamiliar  city  of  New  York? 

There  were  numberless  excursions  by  boat  and 
train  and  flag-decked  barges,  and  the  throng 
of  sightseers  of  every  nationality  jostled  one 
another  good-humoredly,  as  they  surged  to  and 
fro  under  the  hot  sun  in  the  narrow  space  at  the 
terminals  of  the  elevated  and  subway  roads. 
Jane's  sad,  bewildered  little  face  under  the  brim 
of  her  unfashionable  hat  attracted  the  attention 
of  more  than  one  passer-by,  as  she  slowly  made 
her  way  to  the  ferry  ticket  office.  She  was  going 
directly  back  to  Staten  Island,  with  no  better 
prospect  in  view  then  to  pass  the  day  alone  on 
the  back  porch  of  Mrs.  Belknap's  house,  when 
the  might-have-been-expected  unexpected  hap- 
pened ;  she  came  face  to  face  with  John  Everett, 
cool  and  handsome  in  his  light  summer  suit  and 
Panama  hat.  The  young  man  had  evidently  just 
landed  from  a  Staten  Island  boat,  and  his  grim 
face  brightened  as  his  eyes  lit  upon  Jane,  hastily 
attempting  to  conceal  her  small  person  behind  a 
17  253 


Truth  f  u  1    Jane 

burly  German  woman  bearing  a  bundle,  a  basket, 
and  a  brace  of  babies  in  her  capacious  arms. 

"  Jane  I  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Everett;  "  how  glad 
I  am  to  have  met  you.  Where  were  you 
going?" 

"  I  am  going  back  to  Staten  Island  directly, 


sir." 


"To  do  what?" 

His  eyes  demanded  nothing  less  than  facts, 
and  Jane,  being  characteristically  unable  to  frame 
a  successful  fib  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  told 
the  pitiful  little  truth. 

"  And  so  you  were  going  back  to  stay  all  day 
on  the  outside  of  a  locked  house — eh?  A  cheer- 
ful holiday  you'd  put  in !  " 

"  I  meant  to  take  a  long,  pleasant  walk,  of 
course,"  amended  Jane,  "  and " 

"  Won't  you  take  pity  on  me?  "  he  pleaded. 
"  I  hadn't  an  idea  how  to  spend  the  day,  so  I'd 
started  with  an  aimless  notion  of  fetching  up  at 
the  country  club  and  playSng  golf  or  tennis. 
But  I  don't  care  a  nickel  for  either.  You've 
never  seen  New  York,  Jane,  and  now's  your 
254 


Truthful    Jane 

chance.  You'll  be  going  back  to  England  soon 
without  ever  having  had  a  glimpse  of  this  town, 
and  that  would  be  really  foolish,  since  you're 
here ;  don't  you  see  it  would  ?  " 

Jane  shook  her  head.  "  I — I  couldn't,"  she 
hesitated;  but  her  youthful  eyes  shone  wistfully 
bright,  as  all  unknown  to  herself  she  turned  to 
cast  a  fleeting  glance  at  the  laughing  holiday 
crowds  pouring  up  to  the  elevated  and  down  to 
the  subway  stations. 

;' Why,  of  course  you  can!"  he  said  posi- 
tively; and  before  she  knew  what  had  really  hap- 
pened she  found  herself,  her  weak  objections 
overborne,  seated  in  a  flying  train  which  looked 
down  upon  the  gay  panorama  of  New  York's 
flag-decked  streets. 

;<  Where  are — we  going?  "  she  asked  him,  and 
the  little  catch  in  her  soft  voice  raised  John 
Everett  to  a  seventh  heaven  of  unreasoning 
happiness. 

"  How  would  you  like,"  he  asked,  "  to  let  this 
train  carry  us  the  entire  length  of  Manhattan 
Island — which  is  really  the  live  heart  of  New 
255 


Truthful     Jane 

York,  you  know — and  bring  up  at  Bronx  Park? 
I  was  there  once  with  Buster,  and  there  are  all 
sorts  of  queer  birds  and  reptiles  and  animals  to 
be  seen,  and  a  pretty  winding  river — we'll  go 
up  it  in  a  rowboat,  if  you  like  the  water;  and 
we'll  have  our  lunch  in  a  little  restaurant  by  the 
rocking  stone,  and  then " 

"  But — I'm  obliged  to  be  at  home  by  five 
o'clock,"  she  told  him  with  a  transient  clouding 
of  her  bright  eyes,  "  and — and  I  am  afraid  that 
Mrs.  Belknap " 

"  Jane,"  he  began,  in  a  low,  persuasive  voice, 
"  just  listen  to  me  for  a  minute.  You  must 
have  a  reasonably  independent  character  or  you 
wouldn't  be  here  in  America.  You  remember 
what  you  told  me  the  other  day  of  how  you 
came  to  leave  your  home  in  England;  now  that 
being  the  case,  suppose  you  make  up  your  mind 
to  forget  all  about  my  excellent  sister  and  her 
claims  on  you  for  just  this  one  day  and  be  your- 
self. Will  you,  Jane?  It  will  be  a  lot  more  fun 
for  both  of  us,  and  it  won't  hurt  anybody  in  the 
world." 

256 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

Jane  drew  a  quick  breath.  "  I'd  like  to,"  she 
said  honestly. 

At  that  very  moment  Mrs.  Belknap,  becom- 
ingly veiled  and  gowned  and  leaning  back  com- 
placently against  the  luxurious  cushions  of  Mrs. 
Sloan's  new  automobile,  was  saying  to  her  host- 
ess: "  Oh,  thank  you  so  much  for  thinking  to 
inquire  after  my  brother!  Yes,  John  is  spend- 
ing the  day  at  the  country  club ;  he  used  to  be  a 
champion  golf  player — did  you  know  it?  and  he 
enjoys  a  day  on  the  links  beyond  anything." 
Then  this  sapient  young  matron  permitted  the 
carking  cares  of  everyday  life  to  trail  away  into 
the  dust-laden  distance  with  the  mellow  honking 
of  the  great  horn — an  experiment  which  Jane 
and  John  Everett  were  also  trying  to  their  mu- 
tual satisfaction  on  the  sun-lit  reaches  of  the 
Bronx  River. 

The  boat  which  they  hired  at  a  rickety  little 
landing  stage  was  an  unwieldy  flat-iron  shaped 
scow,  designed  with  an  eye  to  the  safety  of  the 
inexperienced  public  as  well  as  the  profit  of  the 
owner;  but  Jane,  bright-eyed  and  pink  cheeked, 
257 


Truthful     Jane 

seated  in  the  big  square  stern,  was  not  too  far 
away  from  John  on  the  rower's  seat,  and  the 
unwieldy  craft  presently  carried  the  two  of  them 
around  a  wooded  bend,  out  of  sight  of  a  group 
of  roystering  picnickers  on  the  bank,  into  a  quiet 
nook  where  the  tall  trees  looked  down  at  their 
reflection  in  the  lazily  flowing  water. 

"  It  reminds  me,"  said  Jane  with  a  sigh,  "  of 
England;  there  is  a  river  like  this  near  Uncle 
Robert's  place  in  Kent,  only  it  isn't  muddy  like 
this." 

"  One  has  to  be  far  from  home  to  really  ap- 
preciate its  strong  points,"  he  observed  medita- 
tively; "  I  never  shall  forget  how  I  felt  after 
nearly  a  year  abroad  when  I  came  suddenly  upon 
the  American  flag  waving  over  a  consulate  build- 
ing somewhere  in  Italy.  I  hadn't  an  idea  up  to 
that  moment  that  I  was  particularly  patriotic, 
and  I'd  been  enjoying  my  trip  immensely,  but  I 
could  have  fallen  on  the  neck  of  the  wizened 
little  chap  inside  just  because  he  was  born  in 
Schenectady,  New  York.  But  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  Jane,  our  rivers  are  not  all  muddy;  you 
258 


Truthful     Tane 
£ 

ought  to  travel  about  and  see  more  of  America 
before  you  allow  yourself  to  form  cast-iron  opin- 
ions about  it.  You've  seen  nothing  but  our 
seamy  side  yet,  and  quite  naturally  you  can't  help 
setting  America  down  as  a  very  disagreeable 
place,  and  bunching  all  Americans  as  cads." 

Jane's  brilliant  little  face  dimpled  mis- 
chievously. "  Oh,  no,  I  don't,"  she  said  sweetly; 
"  I  have  the  highest  possible  esteem  for  Bertha 
Forbes.  She  is  an  American  and  a  very  superior 
person,  I  am  sure." 

'  You  mean  by  that,  I  suppose,  that  you  think 
her  fair-minded  and  kind-hearted;  don't  you?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  do,"  admitted  Jane.  "  Bertha 
is  clever,  too,  and  amusing — sometimes." 

"  Nearly  all  Americans  are  clever  and  amus- 
ing, in  spots,"  he  said  confidently,  "  and  numbers 
of  us  can  fill  the  rest  of  the  bill  clear  down  to 
the  ground;  you'll  see,  Jane,  when  you  come  to 
know  us  better." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  am  going  back  to 
England  in  June,"  she  said,  "  and  I  never  ex- 
pect to  come  back." 

259 


Truth  f  11 1     Jane 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  never  want  to  come 
back?" 

Jane  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly.  "  I 
might  possibly  return  to  travel  about  sometime,'* 
she  admitted,  her  mind  reverting  to  Mr. 
Towles's  parting  words.  "  I  am  very  fond  of 
travel." 

"  So  am  I,"  he  said  somewhat  ruefully,  "  but 
I  fear  I'll  not  do  much  of  it  for  some  years  to 
come." 

Jane's  eyes  remained  pensively  fixed  upon  the 
opposite  shore.  She  was  apparently  quite  indif- 
ferent to  Mr.  Everett's  future  prospects,  and 
after  a  short  pause,  which  he  devoted  to  a  careful 
study  of  the  girl's  clear  profile,  he  observed  ten- 
tatively: "  I  hope  you'll  not  lay  it  up  against 
Margaret — the  way  she  treats  you  and  all,  I 
mean.  She's  really  an  uncommonly  good  sort, 
when  one  comes  to  know  her;  but,  of  course, 
she  can't — I  mean  she  doesn't  understand " 

"  I  thought  we  were  to  forget  Mrs.  Belknap 
for  this  one  day?"   murmured  Jane,   with   a 
little  curl  of  her  pretty  lips. 
260 


Truthful     Jane 

He  flushed  uncomfortably.  "  What  I  meant 
to  say  was  this:  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  might 
be  advisable  for  you  to  make  a  clean  breast  of 
the  whole  thing;  to — to  tell  Margaret  all  about 
yourself  and  how  you  came  to  leave  England, 
and  so  put  yourself  right.  I — I  wish  you  would, 
Jane." 

She  fixed  her  clear  eyes  upon  him  thought- 
fully. "  It  has  occurred  to  me,  too,"  she  said; 
"  but — there  is  really  no  need  to  say  anything 
to  Mrs.  Belknap.  I  shall  try  to  do  my  work  as 
well  as  I  can  while  I  am  in  her  house ;  after  that," 
— she  paused,  then  went  on  deliberately — "  I 
shall  go  away,  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  it." 

He  dipped  his  oars  strongly.  "  It  shall  not 
be  the  end  of  it,"  he  told  himself  determinedly. 
Aloud  he  said,  with  a  fine  show  of  indifference : 
'  You  will,  of  course,  do  as  you  like ;  but  I  am 
sure  Margaret  would  be  glad  if  you  would  take 
her  into  your  confidence." 

Jane  smiled  with  a  fine  feminine  understand- 
ing which  was  lost  on  the  man.    "  It  will  be  much 
better  not,  I  am  sure,"  she  said  sweetly. 
261 


CHAPTER   XVII 

As  John  Everett  and  Jane  Blythe  walked 
slowly  along  the  shaded  winding  path  from  the 
rustic  bridge  where  they  landed  from  the  flat- 
iron  shaped  scow,  the  girl  was  thoughtfully  si- 
lent, and  the  man  glancing  at  her  averted  face 
felt  vaguely  uncomfortable.  But  he  could 
hardly  have  been  expected  to  know  that  Jane's 
thoughts  were  perversely  busying  themselves 
with  the  Hon.  Wipplinger  Towle.  She  was 
wondering  uneasily  as  to  what  that  eminently 
correct  Englishman  would  think  at  sight  of  her 
walking,  quite  alone  and  unchaperoned,  with  a 
man,  as  appeared  to  be  the  strange  American 
custom.  Then  for  perhaps  the  fiftieth  time  she 
speculated  upon  the  singular  abruptness  with 
which  Mr.  Towle  had  abandoned  his  wooing 
after  her  final  dismissal  of  him  on  Mrs.  Bel- 
knap's  back  stoop. 

262 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

"  He  might  at  least  have  sent  me  word  that 
he  was  going  back  to  England,"  she  told  her- 
self with  some  indignation,  "if  he  really  cared 
for  me  as  much  as  he  says." 

The  thought  of  that  dear,  distant  island  of 
her  birth  colored  her  answer  to  John  Everett's 
cursory  remark  concerning  the  buffaloes,  which 
lolled  in  all  their  huge  unwieldy  bulk  inside  a 
trampled  enclosure.  "Awkward  chaps;  aren't 
they?"  he  observed;  "but  the  Government  is 
doing  its  best  to  preserve  them  at  this  late  day. 
They  used  to  be  slaughtered  by  tens  of  thousands 
on  the  plains,  you  know,  until  they  bade  fair  to 
become  extinct." 

Jane  shrugged  her  slender  shoulders  indiffer- 
ently. "  They  are  like  everything  else  I  have 
seen  in  America,"  she  said,  "  much  too  big  and 
ugly  to  be  interesting." 

The  tall  American  cast  a  laughing  glance  at 
the  little  figure  at  his  side.  "  We've  more  room 
to  grow  big  in  than  you  have  in  your  '  right 
little,  tight  little  isle,' '  he  said  pleasantly. 
"  Now  if  you're  half  as  hungry  as  I  am,  you're 
263 


Truthful        ane 


ful     J 


ready  to  become  a  generous  patron  of  natural 
..  history  to  the  extent  of  eating  some  lunch  at  this 
restaurant.  The  net  proceeds  of  all  these  places 
of  entertainment  are  said  to  be  turned  in  to  pur- 
chase more  beasts,  birds,  and  reptiles  for  the 
public  delectation." 

Jane  blushed  resentfully  as  they  seated  them- 
selves at  a  small  table  in  the  restaurant  which 
was  little  more  than  an  exaggerated  veranda, 
open  on  all  sides  to  the  fresh  breeze,  the  sight 
of  the  neat  waitresses,  in  their  caps  and  aprons, 
reminding  her  poignantly  of  her  own  anomalous 
position.  She  glanced  fearfully  about,  half  ex- 
pecting to  meet  the  scornful  eyes  of  some  one  of 
Mrs.  Belknap's  acquaintances  to  whom  she  had 
opened  the  door,  and  whose  cards  she  had  con- 
veyed to  her  mistress  upon  the  diminutive  tray 
which  Mrs.  Belknap  had  lately  purchased  for 
that  express  purpose.  There  were  other  young 
women  at  other  round  tables,  wearing  astonish- 
ing gowns  and  preposterous  picture  hats,  and 
attended  by  dapper  young  men  in  smart  ready- 
made  suits  and  brilliant  neckties.  Amid  the  per- 
264 


Truthful     Tan  e    • 

%     4    j     *   ' 

vasive  hum  of  toneless  American-  voices,  pierced 
by  occasional  high-pitched  giggles,  Jane  became 
painfully  conscious  that  her  own  gown  was  old- 
fashioned  and  shabby-to  a  degree,  and  fn  marked 
contrast  to  the  trim  elegance  of  her  companion's 
garb. 

His  eyes,  released  from  a  study  of  the  bill  of 
fare,  followed  hers  with  a  half  humorous  antf 
wholly  masculine  misapprehension.  "  These  are 
New  York's  working  girls  out  for  a  holiday," 
he  said,  "  and  they've  certainly  got  Solomon 
cinched,  as  the  boys  say,  on  attire;  haven't 
they?" 

"If  they  are  working  girls,  they  are  very  un- 
suitably dressed,"  Jane  said  primly.  Then  she 
glanced  down  at  her  own  frock  made  over  from 
one  of  Gwendolen's  cast-offs  by  her  own  unskilled 
fingers,  and  sighed  deeply. 

"  I  like  a — a  plain  gown  best;  one  made  of 
blue  stuff,  say,  and  not  too — too  much  frilled 
and  furbelowed,"  he  observed,  with  a  fatuous 
desire  to  ingratiate  himself,  which  met  with  in- 
stant and  well-deserved  retribution. 
265 


Truthful     Jane 

"  It  isn't  kind  nor — nor  even  civil  of  you  to 
say  that,"  murmured  Jane,  in  a  low  indignant 
voice;  "  I'm  only  a  working  girl  myself;  and  as 
for  my  frock,  I  know  it's  old-fashioned  and — and 
ugly.  I  made  it  myself  out  of  an  old  one;  but 
you  needn't  have  looked  at  it  in  that — particular 
way,  and " 

"  Jane !  "  he  protested,  startled  at  the  fire  in 
her  eyes  and  the  passionate  tremor  in  her  voice, 
"I  beg  your  pardon  for  speaking  as  I  did;  it 
wasn't  good  manners,  and  I  deserve  to  be 
squelched  for  doing  it.  I  don't  know  any  more 
about  gowns  than  most  men,  and  yours  may  be 
old-fashioned,  but  it  is  certainly  the  most  becom- 
ing one  I  have  seen  to-day !  " 

Jane  gazed  at  him  searchingly.  Then  her 
mouth  relaxed  in  a  shadowy  smile  of  forgiveness. 

"  Ah,  here's  the  luncheon  at  last,"  he  cried, 
with  an  air  of  huge  relief,  "  and  I  hope  you're 
as  well  prepared  to  overlook  probable  deficien- 
cies as  I  am." 

There  is  something  primal  and  indubitable 
in  the  mere  act  of  partaking  of  food  at  the  same 
266 


Truthful    Jane 

table  which  has  always  served  to  break  down 
intangible  barriers  of  reserve.  By  the  time  Jane 
Blythe  had  eaten  of  the  broiled  mackerel  and 
fried  potatoes — the  latter  vegetables  being  of 
the  color  and  texture  of  untanned  leather — she 
felt  better  acquainted  with  the  man  who  shared 
these  delectable  viands  with  her  than  she  could 
have  believed  possible.  And  when  the  two  of 
them  had  finally  arrived  at  the  point  of  attacking 
twin  mounds  of  pink  and  white  ice  cream, 
vouched  for  by  the  smiling  young  person  who 
waited  on  them  as  "  fresh  strawbYy  an'  va- 
niller,"  she  was  ready  to  laugh  with  him  at  the 
truly  national  ease  and  dispatch  with  which  the 
loud-voiced,  showily-dressed  damsels  in  their 
immediate  neighborhood  were  disposing  of  sim- 
ilar pink  and  white  mounds. 

And  when  after  luncheon  they  followed  the 
crowd  to  the  lion  house,  Jane's  brown  eyes  grew 
delightfully  big  at  sight  of  the  great  beasts  ramp- 
ing up  and  down  in  their  cages  and  roaring  for 
their  prey,  which  a  blue-frocked  man  shoved  in 
to  them  in  the  convenient  shape  of  huge  chunks 
267 


Truthful     Jane 

of  butcher's  beef.  From  the  spectacle  of  the 
great  cats  at  food,  the  current  of  sightseers  swept 
them  along  to  the  abode  of  the  simians,  where 
they  found  monkeys  of  all  sizes,  colors,  and 
shapes,  gathered  from  every  tropical  forest  in 
the  world,  and  bound  always  to  arouse  strange 
questionings  in  the  minds  of  their  nobler  cap- 
tors. Jane  lingered  before  the  tiny  white-faced 
apes  with  the  bright,  plaintive  eyes  and  with- 
ered skins  of  old,  old  women.  "  They  seem  so 
anxious,"  she  said,  "  and  so  worried  over  their 
bits  of  food,  which  is  sure  to  be  given  them  by 
a  power  which  they  do  not  understand." 

John  Everett  looked  down  at  her  with  quick 
understanding  of  her  unspoken  thought.  "  They 
might  better  be  jolly,  and — so  might  we,"  he 
murmured.  "  I  suppose,  in  a  way,  we're  in  a 
cage — being  looked  after." 

"  And  yet  we  seem  to  be  having  our  own 
way,"  Jane  said. 

After  that  she  was  ready  to  enjoy  the  ourangs, 
dressed  in  pinafores,  and  sitting  up  at  a  table 
devouring  buns  and  milk  with  an  astonishing  dis- 
268 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

play  of  simian  good  manners  under  the  watch- 
ful eye  and  ready  switch  of  their  trainer.  When 
one  of  these  sad-eyed  apes  suddenly  hurled  the 
contents  of  his  mug  at  his  companion's  head, 
then  disappeared  under  the  table,  she  laughed 
aloud,  an  irrepressible,  rolicking,  girlish  peal. 

"  They  make  me  think  of  Percy  and  Cecil 
at  tea  in  the  nursery  at  home,"  she  explained; 
"  they  were  always  trying  experiments  with  their 
bread  and  milk,  and  when  they  were  particularly 
bad  Aunt  Agatha  was  sure  to  find  it  out,  and 
scold  me  because  I  allowed  it." 

"  I  can't  imagine  you  a  very  severe  dis- 
ciplinarian," he  said,  "  though  you  do  manage 
Buster  with  wonderful  success." 

He  regretted  the  stupid  allusion  at  sight  of 
her  quick  blush,  and  made  haste  to  draw  her 
attention  to  the  Canadian  lynxes  snarling  and 
showing  their  tasseled  ears  amid  the  fastnesses 
of  their  rocky  den. 

Neither  paid  any  heed  to  the  shrill  exclama- 
tion of  surprise  to  which  a  stout  person  in  a 
plaided  costume  surmounted  by  a  lofty  plumed 
is  269 


Truthful     Jane 

hat  gave  vent  as  she  recognized  the  slight  figure 
in  the  blue  serge  gown.  The  stout  lady  was  in- 
dustriously engaged  in  consuming  sweets  out  of 
a  brown  paper  bag;  but  she  suspended  the  half 
of  a  magenta-tinted  confection  in  midair  while 
she  called  her  companion's  attention  to  her 
discovery. 

"  I'll  cross  the  two  feet  av  me  this  minute  if 
it  ain't  hurl  "  she  cried. 

Her  escort,  who  was  distinguished  by  a 
mottled  complexion,  a  soiled  white  waistcoat, 
and  a  billy-cock  hat  tipped  knowingly  over  one 
red  eye,  helped  himself  to  a  block  of  dubious 
taffy,  as  he  inquired  with  trenchant  brevity: 
"  Who's  hur?" 

"  An'  bad  'cess  to  hur  English  imperance,  if 
she  ain't  wid  him  I  "  went  on  the  lady  excitedly; 
"  sure  an'  it's  Mary  MacGrotty  as'll  tell  the 
missus  what  I  seen  wid  me  own  two  eyes  come 
to-morry  mornin'.  An'  whin  I'm  t'rough  wid 
hur  ye'll  not  be  able  to  find  the  lavin's  an'  lashin's 
av  hur  on  Staten  Island !  Aw,  the  young  divil !  " 

Happily,  the  unconscious  object  of  these  am- 
270 


Truthful     Jane 

biguous  remarks  moved  on  without  turning  her 
head,  and  was  presently  lost  to  view  amid  the 
shifting  crowd. 

There  was  much  to  be  seen  at  every  turn  of 
the  winding  paths,  and  Jane's  girlish  laugh  rang 
out  more  than  once  at  the  solemn  antics  of  the 
brown  bears,  obviously  greedy  and  expectant  de- 
spite the  official  warnings  against  feeding  the  ani- 
mals, which  were  posted  everywhere ;  at  the  bel- 
lowings  and  contortions  of  the  mild-eyed  seals, 
as  they  dashed  from  side  to  side  of  their  tank,  or 
"  galumphed  "  about  on  the  rocks.  It  was  Jane 
who  supplied  the  missing  word  out  of  "  Alice  in 
Wonderland,"  and  John  declared  that  it  was  the 
only  word  to  describe  the  actions  of  a  seal  on  dry 
ground,  and  hence  deserved  an  honorable  place 
in  the  dictionary. 

Neither  of  them  noticed  the  lengthening 
shadows,  nor  the  gradually  thinning  crowd,  till 
Jane  observed  a  pair  of  huge  eagles  settling 
themselves  deliberately  upon  a  branch  in  their 
cage.  "  They  look,"  she  said  innocently,  "  as 
if  they  were  going  to  roost." 
271 


Truthful     Jane 

Not  till  then  did  the  infatuated  John  Everett 
bethink  himself  to  glance  at  his  watch. 

"  They  are  going  to  roost,  Jane,"  he  said 
soberly,  "  and  we've  a  long  trip  before  us." 

Jane  could  never  afterwards  recall  the  mem- 
ory of  that  homeward  journey  without  a  poign- 
ant throb  of  the  dismay  which  overwhelmed  her 
when  she  spied  Mary  MacGrotty's  leering  face 
in  the  crowd  that  waited  in  the  ferryhouse. 
Miss  MacGrotty's  countenance  was  suggestively 
empurpled,  and  her  gait  was  swaying  and  un- 
certain as  she  approached  Jane. 

"  I  seen  yez  wid  him  to  th'  Paark,"  she  whis- 
pered, "ye  desaitful  young  baggage!"  Then 
she  stepped  back  into  the  crowd  and  disappeared 
before  the  girl  could  collect  her  wits  to  reply. 

Jane's  pretty  color  had  faded  quite  away,  and 
her  eyes  looked  big  and  frightened  when  John 
Everett  joined  her  with  the  tickets.  "  Oh,  if 
you  please !  "  she  whispered,  "  won't  you  let  me 
go  alone  from  here.  I — I  mustn't  be  seen — 
with  you,  sir." 

The  last  piteous  little  word  almost  shook  him 
272 


Truthful     Jane 

from  his  self-control.  "  You  have  a  perfect 
right  to  be  seen  with  me,  Jane,"  he  said  firmly; 
"  and  I  will  not  leave  you  alone  in  this  rough 
crowd;  but  if  it  will  make  you  any  more  com- 
fortable I  will  sit  a  little  distance  away — but 
where  I  can  watch  you,  mind — once  we  are 
aboard." 

Mrs.  Belknap  had  reached  home  before 
them,  and  Master  Buster,  cross  and  tired,  was 
handed  over  to  Jane  immediately  upon  her  ar- 
rival. "  I  am  very  sorry  to  be  so  late,"  the  girl 
said,  with  a  shamed  drooping  of  her  head. 

And  Mrs.  Belknap  replied  kindly:  "You've 
not  had  many  holidays  since  you've  been  with 
me,  Jane;  I  hope  you  enjoyed  this  one." 

"I— I  did  indeed,"  choked  Jane;  "but  I 
ought — I  must  explain " 

"  Not  to-night,  please;  it  really  makes  no  dif- 
ference for  this  once!  "  her  mistress  said  crisply. 


273 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

MRS.  BELKNAP  was  brought  up  face  to  face 
with  the  inevitable  by  Mary  MacGrotty,  who 
presented  herself  the  next  morning  in  the  door 
of  her  mistress's  room.  Miss  MacGrotty's 
countenance  was  stern  and  gloomy.  Her  words 
were  few  and  to  the  point. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  stay  wid  yez  no  longer,"  she 
said. 

"Why,  what  can  have  happened,  Mary?" 
Mrs.  Belknap  asked,  with  hypocritical  solicitude. 

Miss  MacGrotty  eyed  her  young  mistress 
haughtily.  "  Sure,  mum,  an'  you  know  well 
enough  widout  askin'  me,"  she  said.  "  There 
ain't  no  room  in  wan  house  for  hur  an'  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  Jane  ?  " 

"I  do,  mum;  I  mean  Jane,  wid  her  purty 
face  an'  her  big  eyes  an'  her  foine  goin's-on  be- 
hind the  back  o'  yez.  It  ain't  fer  me  to  worrit 
274 


Truth  f ul     Jane 

the  life  out  o'  yez  wid  tellin'  you  all  'at  I  know. 
But  I'm  sorry  fer  yez ;  that's  all." 

The  inexperienced  Mrs.  Belknap  fell  into  the 
artful  trap  with  ease.  "  What  do  you  mean, 
Mary?  "  she  demanded  anxiously. 

Miss  MacGrotty  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  I'll  trouble  yez  for  me  money,  mum,"  she  said 
loftily.  "  I'll  not  make  no  trouble  in  the  house." 

Mrs.  Belknap  happily  remembered  her  hus- 
band's counsel  at  this  crucial  moment.  "  Very 
well,  Mary,"  she  said  coolly,  "  I  will  look  over 
my  account  book  and  have  the  money  ready  for 
you  when  you  have  packed  and  put  your  room 
in  order." 

Miss  MacGrotty  threw  back  her  head  with  a 
defiant  toss.  "  Sure,  an'  I'll  not  be  lavin'  the 
house  till  I've  had  me  rights!  There's  things 
been  missed,  an'  I'll  not  have  it  said  that  Mary 
MacGrotty  wud  touch  the  lave  of  a  pin !  " 
Then  of  a  sudden  she  melted  into  copious  tears. 
"  I've  be'n  that  happy  an'  continted  sinse  I  come 
to  live  wid  you,  Mis'  Belknap;  sure,  I  can't  bear 
the  thoughts  of  lavin'  you  an'  Master  Buster,  wid 
275 


Truthful    Jane 

the  shwate  little  face  on  him.  If  it  wasn't  fer 
hur  I'd  never  be  thinkin'  of  goin';  but  my  feel- 
in's  has  be'n  hur-r-t  an'  trampled  on  till  I  can't 
bear  it  no  more.  Tell  me  wan  thing,  Mis'  Bel- 
knap,  wasn't  we  all  goin'  on  peaceful  an'  happy 
loike  before  she  come,  wid  Mis'  Whittaker  to 
wash  an'  sweep,  an'  me  in  the  kitchen?  " 

Mrs.  Belknap  temporized  weakly.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  if  I  will  discharge  Jane,  you 
will  stay  ?  "  she  said  at  last. 

"  I  do,  mum;  an'  may  I  cross  my  feet  this  day 
if  I  stay  in  the  same  house  wid  hur  another 
week.  She  ain't  my  sort,  mum !  " 

Still  Mrs.  Belknap  hesitated.  Jane  was  prov- 
ing herself  a  most  intelligent  caretaker  for  the 
idolized  Buster.  Indeed  his  mother  was  forced 
to  acknowledge  that  that  young  person's  conduct 
showed  a  not  inconspicuous  improvement  since  he 
had  been  under  the  firm  but  gentle  rule  of  Eng- 
lish Jane.  On  the  other  hand,  Mary's  bread  and 
rolls  were  faultless,  her  pastry  and  salads  beyond 
criticism,  and  her  laundry  work  exhibited  a 
snowy  whiteness  and  smoothness  most  gratify- 
276 


Truthful     Jane 

ing  to  the  eye  and  touch  of  a  dainty  woman  like 
Mrs.  Belknap;  singularly  enough,  not  a  single 
MacGrotty  relative  had  sickened  or  died  since 
the  advent  of  Jane. 

This  last  reflection  colored  her  next  remark. 
'  You  have  been  much  more  reliable  lately, 
Mary,"  she  observed  thoughtfully,  "  and  we  all 
like  your  cooking." 

"Reliable!  "  echoed  Miss  MacGrotty  warmly, 
"  reliable  ?  Ain't  I  always  reliable  ?  Why, 
mum,  in  the  last  place  where  I  wuz  workin'  four 
years  to  the  day,  an'  where  I'd  be  yet  on'y  the 
leddy  died — a  shwate,  purty  leddy  she  wuz,  too. 
Often's  the  toime  I've  said  to  meself,  *  Mis'  Bel- 
knap's  the  livin'  image  of  hur,'  I  says,  an'  that's 
why  I  can't  bear  to  be  leavin'  yez,  mum.  But, 
as  I  wuz  sayin',  Mis'  Peterson  she  wud  be  sayin' : 
*  Oh,  Mary  MacGrotty !  '  she  says,  *  I  don't 
know  what  I'd  be  doin'  widout  you?  she  says. 
'  You're  that  reliable?  she  says.  Of  course,  I've 
had  tumble  luck  wid  me  family  bein'  tuk  bad 
since  I  lived  wid  you.  But,  the  saints  be  praised ! 
they're  all  well  an'  hearty  now,  exceptin'  me 
277 


Truthful    Jane 

brother's  youngest  gurl  that's  bad  wid  her  fut 
from  bein'  run  over  by  a  milk  wagon.  Yis, 
mum,  a  tumble  accident,  it  wuz,  mum.  Hev  ye 
looked  in  hur  things?  " 

"  Have  I  what?  "  faltered  Mrs.  Belknap. 

"  Looked  in  that  gurl's  trunk,  mum,"  repeated 
Miss  MacGrotty  in  a  ghostly  whisper.  "If  you 
ain't,  you'd  better;  that's  all." 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  like  to  do  that.  Dear,  dear  \ 
what  ought  I  to  do,  anyway  ?  " 

"  A  workin'  gurl  what  brags  of  havin'  a  goold 
watch  wid  a  dimon'  in  the  back,  an'  a  locket 
wid  pearls  an'  two  goold  rings,  wan  of  'em 
wid  a  foine  blue  stone  in  it,  ain't  honest,  I 
sh'd  say." 

"Did  Jane ?" 

"  I  seen  'em  wid  me  own  eyes,"  affirmed  Miss 
MacGrotty  dramatically.  '  Where  did  you  git 
the  loikes  o'  thim?  '  I  says  to  'er.  '  They  wuz 
giv  to  me,'  she  says,  '  in  me  last  place,'  she  says." 

"Dear,  dear!"  repeated  Mrs.  Belknap. 
Then  she  straightened  her  trim  figure.  '  You 
may  go  now,  Mary;  I  shall  be  obliged  to  talk 
278 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

with  Jane,  and  with  Mr.  Belknap,  too.  I  don't 
wish  to  be  unjust." 

"  You'd  better  talk  to  Mr.  Everett,  mum, 
whilst  you're  talkin' !  "  said  Mary,  with  artful 
emphasis.  "  Sure,  an'  he's  too  foine  a  gintle- 
man  entirely  to " 

"  You  may  go  to  your  work  at  once,  Mary," 
repeated  Mrs.  Belknap  sternly.  "  I  will  tell  you 
to-morrow  what  I  have  decided  to  do."  Never- 
theless the  last  barbed  arrow  had  found  its  mark 
in  Mrs.  Belknap's  agitated  bosom.  "  I  wonder 
if  Jack — could — "  she  murmured,  her  mind  run- 
ning rapidly  back  over  the  past  weeks.  He  had 
taken  the  girl's  part  masterfully  in  the  few  half- 
laughing  discussions  which  had  taken  place  con- 
cerning the  romantic  fortunes  of  Jane.  "  She  is 
a  lady,  sis,"  he  had  declared  stoutly,  "  and  you 
ought  to  treat  her  like  one." 

"  Impossible !  "  she  thought.  Of  course  there 
couldn't  be  such  a  thing  in  America  as  the  rigid 
class  distinctions  of  England;  still,  an  Everett 
could  hardly  be  seriously  attracted  by  a  servant. 
It  was,  she  decided,  merely  another  case  of  dear 
279 


Truthful     Jane 

old  Jack's  overflowing  goodness  and  kindness  of 
heart — a  heart  which  seemed  big  enough  to  har- 
bor and  warm  the  whole  world  of  forlorn  hu- 
manity. It  was,  in  short,  "  the  Everett  way." 
Margaret  Belknap  recalled  her  father's  beautiful 
courtesy  which  had  exhibited  itself  alike  to  the 
washerwoman  and  the  wife  of  the  millionaire. 
All  women  were  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  the  Ev- 
erett men.  And  a  poor,  sick,  helpless  or  down- 
trodden woman  was  the  object  of  their  keenest 
solicitude. 

Why,  Jack,  she  remembered,  had  on  one  occa- 
sion carried  Mrs.  Whittaker's  little  girl  through 
the  mud  and  rain  for  a  full  block,  with  that 
melancholy  personage  following  close  at  his 
heels,  delivering  fulsome  panegyrics  on  his  good- 
ness. "  And  there  wasn't  a  bit  of  use  of  it, 
either;  the  child  could  have  walked  perfectly 
well,"  Mrs.  Belknap  reminded  herself.  Jack 
was  the  dearest  boy  in  the  world — except  Jimmy ; 
but,  of  course,  he  was  absurd — sometimes.  All 
men  were.  It  was  her  manifest  duty  to  see  to 
it  that  no  appealingly  helpless  female  succeeded 
280 


Truthful     Jane 

in  attaching  him  to  her  perpetual  and  sworn 
service.  It  was  her  duty ;  and  she  would  do  it. 

This  praiseworthy  resolution  shone  keenly  in 
her  blue  eyes  when  Jane  encountered  them  next. 
Behind  the  resolution  lurked  a  question.  Jane 
answered  it  by  asking  another.  "  I  fear  you  are 
not  satisfied  with  my  work,  Mrs.  Belknap,"  she 
said  meekly.  Somehow  or  other,  without  exactly 
knowing  why,  she  had  become  increasingly  so- 
licitous about  pleasing  this  pretty,  clear-eyed 
young  matron,  who,  it  might  have  "Seemed,  was 
not  so  difficult  to  please. 

"  Why,  yes,  Jane,"  Mrs.  Belknap  answered 
hesitatingly,  "  I  am  pleased  with  your  work. 
You  are  really  very  neat  about  your  sweeping 
and  dusting,  now  that  I  have  taught  you  how" — 
this  with  a  complacent  tilt  of  her  brown  head — 
"  and  you  really  manage  surprisingly  well  with 
Buster.  I  think  he  positively  likes  you — the  dar- 
lingl  But " 

Jane  waited  the  outcome  of  that  "  but  "  with 
a  sinking  heart. 

Mrs.  Belknap  was  gazing  at  her  hand-maid- 
281 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

en's  downcast,  faintly  blushing  face  with  search- 
ing eyes.  "  Jane,"  she  said  at  last,  "  Mary  has 
given  me  warning." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Mary  is  going  to  leave 
you,  ma'am?  " 

Mrs.  Belknap  sighed  involuntarily.  "Yes; 
that  is  what  I  mean.  I  was  so  sorry,  Jane,  to 
hear  from  Mary  that  you  two  cannot  live  peace- 
ably in  the  same  house.  And  then " 

"  What  else  did  Mary  say  about  me,  Mrs. 
Belknap?"  demanded  Jane  with  kindling  eyes. 

"  She  said — .  O  Jane,  how  can  I  tell  you  ? 
You  seem  such  a  nice  girl !  " 

"  I  seem — yes,  madam;  but  you  think  I  am 
not  what  I  seem.  Well,  I  am  not.  I  ought  not 
to  be  doing  the  work  of  a  servant  in  this  house. 
I  ought  never  to  have  come  here."  Jane  threw 
back  her  pretty  head  and  stared  at  Mrs.  Belknap 
from  under  level  lids. 

Mrs.  Belknap  returned  the  look  with  one  of 
startled  interest.  She  had  recalled  the  smug- 
gling episode.  "  What — do  you  mean,  Jane?  " 

she  asked.    "  You  are  not " 

282 


Truthful     Jane 

"  I  am  a  lady,"  said  English  Jane  haughtily; 
"  and  so  I  do  not  belong  in  anyone's  servant's 
hall.  That  is  what  I  mean." 

"  Oh ! — a  lady  !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Belknap, 
and  she  smiled.  "  Everyone  who  works  out  in 
America  is  '  a  lady.'  We  who  employ  serv- 
ants are  simply  women.  But  perhaps  you  did 
not  know  that,  Jane."  She  remembered  her 
brother's  emphatic  assertions,  and  added  kindly : 
"  I  have  noticed  Jane,  that  you  appear  somewhat 
above  your  station.  But  you  should  remember 
that  honest  work  never  hurts  anyone's  real  char- 
acter. Character  is  marred  by — by  something 
quite  different.  When  one  allows  oneself  to  be 
tempted  to — to  take  what  belongs  to  another, 
for  instance." 

"  Do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Belknap, '  that  you 
think  /  stole  the  things  you  have  missed?  "  de- 
manded Jane,  her  hazel  eyes  darting  fire.  "  Did 
that  wicked  Mary  say  that  to  you  ?  Yes ;  I  see 
that  she  did.  And  you  " — with  bitter  anger 
and  scorn  quite  impossible  to  convey — "  be- 
lieved it!  " 

283 


Truthful     Jane 

Mrs.  Belknap  appeared  to  grow  small  in  her 
chair  under  the  direct  light  of  the  girl's  indig- 
nant eyes.  "  I — I  do  not  accuse  you  of  any- 
thing," she  faltered.  "  I  wish  above  all  things 
to  be  just  to  everybody  concerned." 

Jane  was  silent.  She  was  thinking  confusedly 
of  noblesse  oblige.  '  You  told  me  you  were  not 
easily  deceived,"  she  said,  after  a  long  pause; 
"  but  you  are.  If  you  were  not  blind  you  would 
know  that  I  am  incapable  of  anything  of  the 
sort.  But  if  you  prefer  to  believe  Mary  because 
she  cooks  your  food  as  you  like  it,  I  shall  not 
complain.  I  cannot  cook." 

This  random  shaft  hit  so  squarely  in  the  bull's 
eye  of  Mrs.  Belknap's  wavering  thought  that 
for  the  moment  that  worthy  young  matron  was 
quite  overcome  with  confusion.  Then  she  rallied 
her  forces. 

"  Now  that  we  have  entered  upon  this  very 
disagreeable  conversation,  Jane,  we  may  as  well 
come  to  a  full  understanding — if  such  a  thing 
is  possible,"  she  said  decidedly.  "  I  dislike  more 
than  I  can  tell  you  mentioning  the  matter,  be- 
284 


Truth  f u  1     Jane 

cause  it  would  seem  to  be  none  of  my  affairs; 
but  Mary  told  me  that  you  had  shown  her  sev- 
eral articles  of  jewelry  which  struck  me  as  being 
— well,  to  say  the  least,  as  unsuited  to  a  young 
girl  situated  as  you  seem  to  be  in  the  world, 
and " 

"  I  never  showed  Mary  anything  that  be- 
longed to  me,  nor  talked  to  her  about  myself," 
said  Jane  stonily.  "  But  I  will  show  the  con- 
tents of  my  box  to  you,  madam — if  you  have 
not  already  seen  it,"  she  added  keenly. 

"  No — no,  Jane,  indeed,  I  have  not !  "  denied 
her  mistress.  "  I  have  never  made  a  practice  of 
looking  into  a  servant's  possessions  without  her 
knowledge,  as  so  many  housekeepers  do."  Mrs. 
Belknap  was  feeling  thoroughly  uncomfortable; 
quite,  as  she  afterwards  expressed  it,  as  though 
she  were  the  culprit  brought  to  the  verge  of  a 
damaging  confession. 

'  Very  well,  madam,  if  you  will  come  upstairs 
to  my  room  with  me  I  will  show  you  my  watch 
and  my  locket,  and  whatever  else  I  have  which 
you  think  may  interest  you." 
19  285 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

The  faint  irony  in  Jane's  well-modulated 
tones  brought  the  color  to  Mrs.  Belknap's  fore- 
head; but  she  arose  determinedly.  "  Thank  you, 
Jane,"  she  said,  "  it  will  be  best,  I  think." 

Jane  threw  open  the  door  of  the  metamor- 
phosed trunkroom  with  the  air  of  an  empress. 
"  Please  sit  down,  Mrs.  Belknap,"  she  said  po- 
litely. Then  she  opened  the  lid  of  her  trunk. 
"  This  is  my  watch,  of  which  Mary  spoke  to  you. 
It  belonged  to  my  mother;  it  has  her  monogram 
on  the  back,  you  see;  and  inside  is  her  name, 
Jane  Evelyn  Winston." 

Mrs.  Belknap's  eyelids  flickered  inquiringly. 

"  Winston  was  my  mother's  name  before  she 
was  married,"  Jane  explained,  with  a  scornful 
curl  of  her  pretty  lip.  "  This  locket  has  my 
father's  picture  in  it,  as  you  see.  Mother  used 
to  wear  it  on  her  neck.  I  can  just  remember  it." 

"  It  is  a  very  handsome  locket,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Belknap. 

"  And  these  are  mother's  wedding  and  be- 
trothal rings.  This  sapphire  is  very  old;  it 
belonged  to  my  great-great-grandmother  Au- 
286 


Truthful    Jane 

brey-Blythe.  There  are  some  other  jewels  which 
belonged  to  mother,  but  Uncle  Robert  has  them 
put  away  for  me.  I  suppose  I  shall  never  see 
them  again."  • 

Jane  choked  a  little  over  her  last  words,  and 
two  or  three  big,  homesick  tears  dropped  on  the 
two  rings. 

"  Jane!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Belknap,  with  sud- 
den sharpness,  "what — what  is  that!"  She 
was  pointing  to  a  corner  of  the  trunk,  her  eyes 
round  with  horrified  surprise. 

Jane's  tear-blurred  gaze  followed  the  direc- 
tion of  her  mistress's  accusing  finger. 

"  Will  you  take  everything  out  of  the  trunk, 
please,  and  place  the  articles  on  this  chair,  one 
by  one,"  commanded  Mrs.  Belknap. 

The  girl  obeyed  in  stupefied  silence. 

"  Do  these  articles — this  fraternity  badge, 
these  hat  pins,  and  this  handkerchief  belong  to 
you,  Jane?  " 

"  No ! — oh,  my  God,  no  \  "  cried  Jane,  star- 
ing with  a  suddenly  blanching  face  at  the  lit- 
tle group  of  articles  which  Mrs.  Belknap  had 
287 


Truthful     Jane 

singled  out  from  among  the  things  on  the 
chair. 

There  was  a  tense  silence  in  the  room  for  the 
space  of  a  minute;  then  Master  Belknap's  little 
feet  were  heard  laboriously  climbing  the  stair. 
"  Muzzer!  "  he  shouted,  "  I  want  'oo,  muzzer! 
I  tan't  find  my  Jane !  " 

Jane  sobbed  aloud. 

"  Oh,  Jane,  I  am  so  sorry  !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Bel- 
knap  faintly.  "  Of  course,  you  will  have  to  go. 
But  I  shall  not — "  She  hesitated  over  the  harsh 
word,  and  finally  substituted  another.  "  I  shall 
not  tell  anyone  of  this;  except,"  she  added 
firmly,  "  Mr.  Belknap  and  Mr.  Everett.  I  must 
tell  them,  of  course.  They  will  be  sorry,  too." 

Jane  stared  at  her  mistress  through  a  blur  of 
anguished  tears. 

"  Do  you  think — oh,  you  can't  believe  I  did 
it?" 

"What  else  can  I  believe?"  Mrs.  Belknap 

said  sorrowfully.    Then  she  arose  with  decision. 

"If  you  will  come  to  me  when  you  have  packed, 

Jane,  I  will  pay  you  your  wages.     And  I  do 

288 


Truthful     Jane 

hope,  my  poor  girl,  that  this  will  be  a  lesson  to 
you.  Nothing  is  so  well  worth  while  as  truth- 
fulness and  honesty.  Try  to  remember  it,  Jane, 
after  this;  will  you?  " 

Jane's  face  hardened.  "  I  didn't  do  it,"  she 
said  doggedly.  '  That  wicked  Mary  has  been 
in  my  room.  She  said  she  had.  She  must  have 
put  these  things  in  my  trunk.  I  never  saw  them 
before." 

"  Jane!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Belknap;  there  was 
stern  reproof,  righteous  anger,  and  a  rapidly 
growing  disgust  in  her  voice.  Then  she  swept 
out,  pausing  merely  to  say :  "  You  may  pack  your 
things  at  once  \  " 

John  Everett  came  home  early  from  the  city 
that  night.  He  had  arrived  at  an  important 
decision — namely,  to  make  a  confidante  of  his  sis- 
ter with  regard  to  his  unmistakable  feelings  for 
Jane.  "  Margaret  is  a  brick!  "  he  told  himself 
hopefully.  "She  will  understand;  I  know  she 
will,  and  do  the  square  thing  by  us  both.  It 
isn't  as  though  Jane  was  a  common,  uneducated 
289 


Truthful     Jane 

person;  she  is  a  lady  to  the  tips  of  her  little  fin- 
gers— bless  her !  " 

Mr.  Everett's  ideas  had  undergone  a  rapid 
and  wonderful  change  within  the  few  weeks  of 
his  meager  acquaintance  with  Jane.  He  no 
longer  appeared  to  himself  to  be  breasting  an 
unfriendly  current  of  life  with  the  mere  vision 
of  a  distant,  sunny  shore  to  cheer  his  untiring 
efforts.  He  seemed  suddenly  to  have  attained 
a  larger  and  completer  knowledge  of  himself 
and  of  his  powers.  He  knew  himself  to  be 
abundantly  able  to  make  a  home  for  the  dear- 
est, sweetest  little  girl  in  the  world,  and  he  was 
ready  to  ride  rough  shod  and  triumphant  over 
difficulties  of  every  conceivable  sort.  Since  he 
had  arrived  at  this  by  no  means  tardy  conclu- 
sion of  the  matter,  his  love  for  Jane  had  over- 
leapt  its  barriers,  and  was  ready  to  sweep  all 
before  it,  including  the  girl's  own  delightful  shy- 
ness and  maiden  coldness. 

Mr.  Everett  found  his  sister  Margaret  at  her 
little  desk,  a  leather-covered  account  book  open 
before  her,  a  pile  of  bills  and  silver  pushed  to 
290 


Truthful     Jane 

one  side.  He  stooped  to  pinch  her  pink  ear,  fol- 
lowing the  pinch  with  a  hearty  brotherly  kiss. 
Then  he  perceived  that  something  was  seriously 
amiss  with  the  little  lady.  There  were  tears  in 
her  eyes  and  a  piteous  quaver  in  her  voice  as  she 
looked  up  to  greet  him. 

"What's  the  matter,  little  woman?"  he 
asked  gayly.  "Won't  the  accounts  balance?" 

He  bent  nearer  and  read :  "  Jane  Evelyn 
Aubrey-Blythe.  Began  work  April  2  6th;  wages 
$14.00." 

"Is  that  her  name?"  he  almost  shouted. 
"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Jack,"  Mrs. 
Belknap  replied  petulantly.  Then  she  burst  into 
nervous  tears  as  she  faltered:  "Jane's — gonel 
And,  oh,  Jack,  she  wouldn't  take  her  wages !  " 


291 


CHAPTER    XIX 

"  GONE  !  "  echoed  John  Everett  blankly. 
"Are  you  telling  me  that  Jane  has  gone!" 
Then  he  stooped  over  his  sister  with  something 
almost  threatening  in  his  face  and  attitude. 
*'  Margaret,"  he  said  quietly,  "  you  must  tell  me 
at  once  what  has  happened  to  Jane  !  " 

Mrs.  Belknap  glanced  up  at  him  fearfully. 
"  O  Jack !  "  she  cried,  "  surely  you  do  not — 
you  cannot " 

"  How  long  has  she  been  gone  ?  "  demanded 
her  brother,  still  in  that  ominously  quiet  tone. 
"Tell  me  quick!" 

"  Not  ten  minutes,"  replied  his  sister.  "  But, 
Jack,  dear  Jack,  listen  to  mel  She — she— 
wasn't  honest;  I  found " 

A  smothered  exclamation  of  wrath  and  grief, 
a  loud  slam  of  the  front  door,  and  the  sound  of 
his  hurrying  feet  without  reduced  Mrs.  Belknap 
to  despairing  tears. 

292 


Truth  f u  1     Jane 

"Oh!  what  shall  I  do?"  she  asked  herself 
miserably.  "  I  tried  to  be  fair  to  Jane;  I  did 
indeed !  I  should  never  have  accused  her.  But 
what  could  I  think?  And  if  Jack — oh!  that 
would  be  worst  of  all !  But  perhaps  he  is  just 
sorry  for  her;  he  is  always  being  sorry  for 
people.  I  wish  she  had  taken  the  money;  the 
sight  of  it  makes  me  feel  like  a  thief !  And  1 
wish — oh,  I  wish  Jimmy  would  come !  " 

The  little  pile  of  bills  and  silver,  representing 
the  month's  wages  which  she  had  urged  upon 
poor  Jane,  seemed  to  accuse  her  solemnly.  She 
put  it  hastily  out  of  sight,  glad  of  her  child's 
insistent  demands  for  attention. 

The  boy  climbed  upon  her  knee  and  pillowed 
his  head  comfortably  upon  her  breast.  "  Jane 
cwied,  muzzer,"  he  remarked  presently. 

'  Yes,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Belknap  nervously. 
"  Would  you  like  mother  to  tell  you  about  the 
three  little  pigs?  " 

"Uh-huh;  tell  me  'bout  V  free  'ittle  pigs. 
Jane  cwied,  muzzer!  " 

"Yes,  dear.     Now  listen:  Once  upon  a  time 
293 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

there  was  a  nice,  kind  pig  mamma,  and  she  had 
three  dear,  little " 

"  Muzzer,  if  I — if  I  div  Jane  my  fwannel 
el'phunt,  would  she — would  she  'top  cwi'in?  I 
like  my  Jane,  muzzerl  " 

"  Poor  little  sweetheart !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Belknap,  with  a  gratifying  sense  of  indignation 
against  Jane  welling  up  warm  within  her. 
"Never  mind  about  Jane,  darling;  listen  to 
mother  while  she  tells  you  about  the  three  dear 
little  pigs.  One  was  a  little  white  pig,  with  pink 
eyes  and  a  pink  nose  and  the  cunningest  little 
curly  tail." 

"  Was  his  'ittle  curly  tail  pink,  muzzer?  " 

"  Yes,  dear;  it  was  all  pink,  and " 

"  No!  "  objected  her  son  strongly;  "  his  'ittle 
curly  tail  was — it  was —  Tell  me,  muzzer!  " 

"  It  was — pinky  white,  a  delicate,  peach  blos- 
som sort  of  color,"  hazarded  Mrs.  Belknap. 
"  Now  be  quiet,  dear,  and  listen.  The  second 
little  pig  was  spotted,  white  and " 

"  If  I  div  Jane  my  wed  bwocks,  would  she 
'top  cwi'in,  muzzer?  " 

294 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  White  and  brown,"  went  on  his  mother  des- 
perately. "  Now  you  must  listen,  Buster,  or 
mother  cannot  tell  you  the  story.  The  third 
little  pig  was  black — all  pure  black" 

;'  Was  his  'ittle  curly  tail  all  bwack,  muzzer?  " 

"  Yes ;  his  little  curly  tail  and  all — pure  black. 
He  was  the  smallest  pig  of  all;  but  his  mother 
loved  him  dearly." 

"  Did  he  cwi,  muzzer?  " 

"  No;  never;  none  of  them  ever  cried.  They 
were " 

'  Jane  cwied,  muzzer.  " 

'  They  were  very  good,  obedient  little  pigs. 
They  never  interrupted  their  dear  mother  when 
she  told  them  stories.  They  were " 

"  I  like  my  Jane,"  murmured  the  infant,  ap- 
plying his  fists  to  his  eyes,  "an' — an'  I  like  my 
supper.  Tell  Jane  to  div  me  my  supper, 
muzzer!  " 

"Why,  you  poor  little  darling!  Of  course 
you  must  be  hungry !  Mother  will  give  you  your 
supper  right  away.  Come,  dear!  " 

Mrs.  Belknap  arose  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and 
295 


Truthful     Jane 

made  her  way  to  the  kitchen.  "  Mary,"  she  be- 
gan, "I  will  give  Buster  his  supper  now;  you 
may — "  She  stopped  short  in  horrified  dismay. 
Miss  MacGrotty  was  lolling  against  the  table, 
a  saucepan  grasped  negligently  in  one  hand, 
while  its  contents  drizzled  slowly  down  the  broad 
expanse  of  her  aproned  front  into  a  puddle  on 
the  floor. 

"  Why,  Mary  I  "  cried  her  mistress,  "  you 
are  spilling  that  gravy  all  over  yourself;  do  be 
careful !  " 

"Careful — is  ut?  Careful!  I'm  that — hie 
careful,  mum!  You'll  not  find  me  equal — on 
Shtaten  Island,  mum.  I'm — jist  a-ristin'  mesilf 
a  bit.  I'm  that  wore  out  wid — hie — shlavin' 
fer  the  loikes  av  yez.  An'  I'll  do  ut  no 
longer!" 

Miss  MacGrotty  here  relinquished  her  lax 
hold  upon  the  saucepan  which  glissaded  briskly 
to  the  floor,  scattering  blobs  of  brown  sauce  in 
every  direction. 

"  Mary!  "  repeated  Mrs.  Belknap,  "  you  must 
be  ill!" 

296 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Git  out  av  me  kitchen !  "  advised  Miss  Mac- 
Grotty  trenchantly.  "  I'll  not  have  the  loikes 
av  yez  a-bossin'  me  \  I'm  a  perfec'  leddy,  I  am, 
an' — hie — I'll  not  put  up  wid  yer  lip  no  more, 
ner  I  won't  put  up  wid  hers  neither — a-tellin' 
me  I  ain't  honest,  an'  me  on'y  takin'  me  per- 
quisites now  an'  thin  in  tay  an'  sugar  an'  the 
loike !  " 

"I  do  believe  you've  been  drinking!"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Belknap,  a  great  light  breaking  in 
upon  her  mind.  "  Tell  me,  was  it  you  who  put 
those  things  in  poor  Jane's  trunk?  " 
'  "  Indade,  an'  I'll  not  tak'  a  worrd  av  yer 
imperance !  "  retorted  Miss  MacGrotty,  with 
drunken  dignity.  "  I  says  to  mesilf,  '  I'll  tak' 
down  her  high  looks,'  I  says.  An'  I  done  ut!  " 

Mrs.  Belknap  turned  and  fled — straight  into 
the  arms  of  her  husband,  who  had  just  entered 
the  house.  In  that  safe  refuge  the  little  woman 
burst  into  tormented  tears,  while  the  infant  cling- 
ing to  her  skirts  lifted  up  his  voice  in  sympa- 
thetic concert. 

"  What  in  the  world?  "  began  the  distracted 
297 


Truth  f u 1    Jane 

husband  and  father.  "  Hold  hard  here !  I've 
got  oranges,  Buster!  and  violets,  Madge! 
Come,  dear,  brace  up  and  tell  a  fellow  what's 
up!  Anybody  sick  or  dead?  Or  what  has 
happened?  " 

Thus  entreated  Mrs.  Belknap  sobbed  out  an 
incoherent  account  of  the  untoward  happenings 
of  the  day. 

Mr.  Belknap  whistled,  after  a  safe  masculine 
habit.  "  Well,  you  have  had  a  day  of  it!  "  he 
exclaimed.  "Jane  convicted  and  evicted;  Jack 
eloped  (presumably)  and  Mary  intoxicated !  By 
Jove!  I  believe  she's  preparing  to  invade  the 
front  of  the  house.  Here,  dear,  you  take  the 
boy  and  go  in  the  other  room,  and  I'll  manage 
the  hilarious  lady." 

The  rumble  of  a  deep  Irish  voice  and  the 
slamming  of  furniture  in  the  dining  room  pre- 
saged the  dramatic  advent  of  Miss  MacGrotty, 
armed  with  a  poker  and  a  toasting  fork.  "  I'll 
tak'  down  the  high  looks  av  her  afore  I'm  done 
wid  her !  "  she  was  declaiming. 

"  Hello,  Mary !  What's  the  matter  with 
298 


you  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Belknap  in  a  loud  and 
cheerful  voice. 

At  sight  of  her  master,  tall,  broad  and  author- 
itative, Miss  MacGrotty  sank  into  a  chair  and 
began  to  weep  hysterically.  "Aw,  sur!  "  she 
faltered,  "  may  the  saints  in  hiven  bless  your 
kind  hearrt  fur  askin' !  I've  be'n  that — hie — 
put  upon  this  day,  an'  me  a  perfec'  leddy,  but 
that  delicut  an'  ailin'  I'm  'bliged  to  tak'  a  wee 
drap  occasional  to  kape  up  me  spirits  loike! 
1  You've  be'n  drinkin'  '  she  says.  The  imper- 
ance  av  her!  " 

Mr.  Belknap  had  grasped  the  lady  firmly  by 
the  arm.  "  You  need  a  little  rest,  Mary,"  he  said 
sympathetically.  "  You  must  have  been  work- 
ing too  steadily.  My  wife's  a  hard  mistress." 
'  That  she  is,  sur,  bliss  yer  kind  hearrt!  If 
you'd  lave  me  be,  sur,  I'd — hie — tak'  down  the 
high  looks  av  her,  an'  that  hussy,  Jane,  too.  But 
I  got  good  an'  even  wid  hurl  " 

'  What  did  you  do  to  Jane?"  inquired  her 
captor,  who  was  gently  shoving  his  prize  up  the 
stairs. 

299 


Truthful     Jane 

"  Don't  you  know,  sur?  an'  you  that  shmart 
in  your  business  ?  She's  'asy  fooled !  Sure,  an' 
I  changed  things  about  a  bit  in  the  house ;  that's 
all  I  done." 

"  Ah-ha !  Very  clever  of  you,  Mary.  You 
put  the  missis's  things  in  Jane's  room — eh? 
Good  joke  that!-" 

Miss  MacGrotty  laughed  hysterically.  "  She 
ain't  found  'em  all  yit,"  she  whispered.  "  Tell 
her  to  look  between  the  mattresses  av  the  bed." 

"  Thanks  for  the  information,  old  girl !  "  ob- 
served Mr.  Belknap  genially.  And  having  ar- 
rived at  his  destination,  namely,  the  apartment 
occupied  by  Miss  MacGrotty,  he  gently  de- 
posited his  charge  within;  then  shut  and  locked 
the  door  upon  her. 

"  She'll  sleep  it  off  before  morning,"  he  told 
his  wife  reassuringly;  "then  I'll  see  that  she 
leaves  the  house  peaceably.  I  told  you  she  was 
a  fraud,  dear.  But  never  mind,  better  luck  next 
time.  As  for  Jack,  I  do  hope  he'll  find  that  poor 
girl  for  the  sake  of  the  family  peace  of  mind." 

"  I — I  hope  so  too,  Jimmy ;  only " 

300 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  Don't  worry  about  Jack,"  advised  her  hus- 
band. "  He's  too  level-headed  to  rush  into  mat- 
rimony merely  because  he's  sorry  to  see  a  girl 
treated  unjustly." 

"  But,  Jimmy  dear,"  protested  his  wife,  "  I 
don't  see  what  I  could  have  done.  There  were 
the  things — in  her  trunk." 

Mr.  Belknap  shook  his  head.  "  It's  pretty 
hard  on  a  little  woman  when  she's  suddenly 
called  upon  to  act  as  prosecuting  lawyer,  judge, 
jury  and  all,"  he  said  sympathetically.  "  But  I 
think  you  were  a  bit  hasty,  dear.  You  might 
have  suspended  judgment,  as  they  say,  consider- 
ing the  defendant's  general  character." 

'  Yes,  I  really  ought  to  have  known  better,  I 
suppose,"  agreed  Mrs.  Belknap  meekly.  "  But  I 
can't  help  being  afraid  that  Jack  is  more  than 
sorry  for  Jane.  And,  Jimmy,  she's  only  a  serv- 
ant— even  if  she  is  honest,  and  yes — I  will  ac- 
knowledge it — pretty." 

'  Talk  about  our  glorious  American  democ- 
racy !  "  groaned  her  husband  in  mock  dismay. 

"  Well,  I'll  put  it  straight  to  you,  Jimmy  Bel- 
20  301 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

knap ;  would  you  like  Jane  Evelyn  Aubrey-Blythe 
for  a  sister-in-law?  " 

"  Hum !  That  depends,"  said  Jimmy  Bel- 
knap,  with  a  conservative  grin.  "  But  I  say, 
Margaret,  let's  see  what  we  can  do  about  that 
dinner  I  seem  to  smell  burning  on  the  range." 

While  these  important  events  were  transpiring 
in  the  Belknap  household,  Mr.  John  Everett  was 
having  divers  and  sundry  experiences  of  his  own. 
As  he  plunged  down  the  street  in  the  fast-gather- 
ing darkness  of  the  spring  night  he  was  conscious 
of  but  one  desire,  and  that  was  to  find  Jane. 
Having  found  her,  he  knew  definitely  that  he 
meant  never  to  lose  sight  of  her  again.  This 
much  was  certain,  and  the  fine,  drizzling  rain 
which  presently  began  to  fall  did  not  serve  to 
dampen  his  resolution. 

There  was  no  car  in  sight  when  he  reached  the 
corner — no  car  and  no  waiting  figure.  One 
nearly  always  waited  to  the  worn  limits  of  one's 
patience  on  this  particular  corner,  as  Mr.  Everett 
already  knew  from  frequent  experience.  Traf- 
fic was  light  in  this  modest,  detached  suburb, 
302 


Truth  f-u  1    Jane 

and  the  traveling  public  correspondingly  meek 
and  long-suffering.  But  occasionally  one  did 
"  catch  "  a  car,  despite  the  infrequency  of  the 
phenomenon.  If  Jane  had  gone — actually  gone 
away  into  the  great,  wide,  cruel  world,  how  could 
he  ever  find  her?  And  not  to  find  Jane  meant  an 
aching  desolation  of  spirit  which  already  gripped 
him  by  the  throat  and  forced  the  salt  drops  to 
his  eyes. 

"  I  will  find  her!  "  said  John  Everett  to  him- 
self; and  then,  all  at  once,  he  found  her. 

She  was  standing  under  the  sparse  shelter  of 
a  newly  leaved  tree,  her  eyes  shining  big  and 
tearless  in  the  cold,  white  light  of  the  shuddering 
arc-light 

"  Jane !  "  cried  John  Everett.  "  Thank  God 
I  have  found  you,  Jane !  " 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  quietly.  She  did 
not  reply;  but  the  sight  of  his  agitated  face 
seemed  to  stir  some  frozen  current  of  life  within 
her.  She  sighed;  then  colored  painfully  over  all 
her  fair  face.  "  She  has  told  you,"  she  said, 
"  and  you " 

303 


Truthful     Jane 

"  I  love  you,  Jane,"  he  said  impetuously.  "  I 
want  you  to  be  my  wife.  O  Jane  dear,  dear 
girl,  don't  turn  away  from  me !  " 

"  The  car  is  coming,"  she  said  faintly.  "  You 
must  not — oh,  good-by,  good-by !  " 

The  brightly  lighted  car  groaned  and  squeaked 
painfully  to  a  standstill,  and  he  helped  her  to 
mount  the  high  step. 

"  Good-by,"  she  murmured  again;  but  when 
she  looked  up  he  was  still  at  her  side,  feeling  me- 
chanically in  his  pocket  for  fares.  "  You  must 
not  go  with  me,"  she  said  firmly.  "  People 
will  see  you,  and — and — I  should  prefer  to  be 
alone." 

John  Everett  set  his  square  American  jaw. 
"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  briefly,  "  but  I  am  going 
to  see  you  to  a  place  of  safety  somewhere.  And 
to-morrow ' ' 

"  I  do  not  need  you,"  she  said  pointedly.  [<  I 
am  going  to  my  friend,  Miss  Forbes,  in  New 
York." 

"  Very  well,"  he  agreed,  "  I  will  see  you  to 
your  friend's  house." 

304 


Truthful     Jane 

She  did  not  once  look  at  him  till  they  had 
found  places  in  a  secluded  corner  on  the  ferry- 
boat deck.  Then  she  spoke  again. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said  gently,  "  that  you  would 
leave  me." 

John  Everett  looked  down  at  her.  "  Jane," 
he  said  abruptly,  "  are  you  already  married?  " 

"  Why — why,  no,"  she  stammered.  "  Of 
course  not !  " 

"  Do  you  love  another  man?  " 

"  No.  But  " — haughtily — "  you  have  no 
right  to  ask  me." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Jane,  but  I  have.  Re- 
member that  I  have  asked  you  to  be  my  wife." 

"  I  am,"  said  Jane,  coldly  and  incisively, 
"  a  perfect  stranger  to  you.  At  present  I  am  a 
disgraced  servant,  leaving  my  place  because  I  am 
accused  of  being — a  thief" 

"Jane,  look  at  me!  " 

She  obeyed  him  proudly. 
4  You  are  the  woman  I  love,  dear.     I  have 
loved  you  ever  since  I  saw  you  that  first  day. 
I   shall  never  love  anyone  else   in   the  whole 

305 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

world.  Oh,  my  poor  darling,  don't  turn  away 
from  me;  try  to  love  me  a  little !  " 

In  point  of  fact,  Jane  did  not  offer  to  turn 
away  from  him.  Her  bruised  and  lonely  heart 
was  filled  with  sweetest  joy  and  light.  And 
the  proud  little  face  uplifted  to  his  was  trans- 
figured with  the  light  that  never  shone  on  sea 
or  land. 

"  Won't  you  try,  dear?  "  he  repeated,  bending 
toward  her. 

"  I  can  never  forget,"  she  said  slowly,  "  that 
you  loved  me — when — "  her  tender  voice  broke 
piteously — "  when  all  the  world  despised  me." 


306 


CHAPTER   XX 

JOHN  EVERETT  may,  or  may  not,  have  been 
excusable  for  neglecting  to  inform  Jane  Blythe 
of  a  matter  which  nearly  concerned  her,  and 
which  had  occupied  his  own  attention  for  an 
hour  or  more  that  very  day.  The  firm  of  law- 
yers with  whom  he  was  associated — Messrs. 
Longstreet  and  Biddle,  to  be  exact — had  re- 
ceived by  the  morning's  post  a  letter  from  certain 
London  solicitors  instructing  them  to  advertise 
for,  and  otherwise  endeavor  to  locate  the  where- 
abouts of  one  Jane  Evelyn  Aubrey-Blythe,  who 
was  known  to  have  left  England  for  America 
on  or  about  April  6th  of  the  current  year.  In- 
formation regarding  this  person,  who  was  other- 
wise described  as  being  young  and  of  pleasing 
appearance  and  address,  would  be  thankfully  re- 
ceived by  Messrs.  Thorn,  Nagle  &  Noyes,  at- 
torneys and  counselors-at-law. 
307 


Truthful     Jane 

In  pursuance  of  this  desired  end,  John  Everett 
had  been  deputed  to  frame  a  suitable  inquiry  to 
be  inserted  in  the  public  prints,  and  the  lead- 
ing New  York,  Brooklyn,  and  Jersey  City  papers 
were  presumably  at  that  moment  setting  the  type 
for  said  notices.  Just  why  Mrs.  Belknap  had 
neglected  to  inform  her  brother  of  what  she  had 
been  pleased  to  term  Jane's  romantic  but  imag- 
inary appellation,  she  could  not  afterwards  recall. 

It  was  Bertha  Forbes  who  finally  brought 
John  Everett's  soaring  thoughts  to  earth  again, 
when  he  presented  himself  at  her  lodgings  as 
the  escort  of  Jane  on  that  memorable  rainy  even- 
ing in  May.  Miss  Forbes  was  officially  crisp  and 
cogent  in  her  manner  at  first;  but  thawed  per- 
ceptibly when  the  two  took  her  wholly  into  their 
confidence. 

Jane  had  appeared  quite  unmoved  by  the 
news  of  the  legal  inquiry  which  concerned  itself 
so  particularly  with  her  person. 

"  It  will  be  Uncle  Robert,"  she  said  calmly. 
"  I  suppose  he  has  been  frightfully  annoyed 
at  my  disappearance — and  Aunt  Agatha,  too. 
308 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

But,"  she  added,  with  a  fleeting  glance  at  her 
lover,  "  I'm  glad  I  ran  away." 

"  So  am  I !  "  echoed  John  Everett  fervently. 

Bertha  Forbes  caught  herself  smiling.  "  Such 
foolish  escapades  frequently  turn  out  quite  other- 
wise," she  said  severely.  "  The  question — now 
that  this  young  person  has  been  '  found,'  so  to 
speak — is  what  do  Messrs.  Thorn,  Nagle  & 
Noyes  want  with  her?  " 

'  They  wish  me  to  return  to  England — to 
Aunt  Agatha,"  Jane  was  positive. 

'  You'll    not    go,    Jane,"    whispered    John 
Everett. 

Bertha  Forbes  caught  the  whisper.  "  She  may 
be  obliged  to  go,"  she  said  curtly.  "  You  must 
leave  her  for  the  present,  young  man,  in  my 
care.  Communicate  with  your  London  lawyers 
and  find  out  the  particulars.  Your  plans  for 
Jane's  future  are  so  extremely  recent  that  they 
will  bear  deferring  a  bit,  I  fancy." 

When  John  Everett  went  away  at  last,  after 
bidding  his   sweetheart  good  night  under  the 
coldly    impersonal    eyes    of    Miss    Forbes,    he 
309 


Truth  f u 1     Jane 

walked  on  air.  And  for  exactly  six  days  there- 
after he  was  the  happiest  man  on  earth.  On  the 
seventh  day  arrived  a  cablegram  from  Messrs. 
Thorn,  Nagle  &  Noyes,  which  read  as  fol- 
lows: "  Return  Aubrey-Blythe  next  steamer. 
Sole  heir  to  uncle's  estate." 

Jane  shook  her  head  when  she  heard  this. 

"  Impossible,"  she  said  at  first.  "  I  have  no 
uncle  except  Uncle  Robert."  Later  she  recalled 
the  dim  memory  of  a  younger  brother,  one  Fox- 
hall  Aubrey-Blythe,  a  wild  scapegrace  of  a  fel- 
low, who  had  been  bred  to  the  army,  sent  to 
South  Africa  in  the  Zulu  wars,  and  lost  sight  of 
by  his  family.  "  It  was  thought,"  she  said  so- 
berly, "  that  he  was  killed,  though  his  death  was 
never  reported  in  the  despatches.  He  was  offi- 
cially starred  and  labeled  '  missing'." 

"  He  has  evidently  turned  up  again,"  said 
John  Everett  gloomily.  "  That  is  to  say,  he  has 
been  heard  of  again  as  rich  and  dead;  and  you 
are  his  heiress." 

"  It  may  not  be  much,"  said  Jane  Blythe 
thoughtfully.  "  I  suppose,"  she  added,  "  that 
310 


Truthful     Jane 

I  must  go  back  to  England.  But  I  shall  not  stay 
there." 

Then  she  looked  at  John  Everett.  He  was 
staring  sternly  at  the  toe  of  his  boot,  a  most  un- 
happy expression  clouding  his  handsome  face. 
"You — don't  like  it — John?"  she  faltered, 
with  an  adorable  little  quaver  in  her  clear  voice. 

He  avoided  her  eyes.  "  I — ought  not  to 
have  spoken  to  you  as  I  did  that  night,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  Jane,  I  don't  know  what  you  will 
think  of  me.  I — knew  that  the  inquiry  had 
been  set  on  foot  when  I  rushed  out  after  you. 
I  meant  to  have  told  you — that.  But  when  I 
saw  you — "  He  paused  to  groan  aloud,  then 
went  on  hurriedly :  "  I  forgot  all  about  that 
confounded  letter  from  Thorn,  Nagle  & 
Noyes;  I  forgot  everything  except  that  I  had 
found  you.  I  was  so  sorry  for  you,  dear,  and 
so  angry  with  my  sister,  and — well,  I've  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  I  made  a  confounded  fool 
of  myself,  Jane.  Can  you — can  you  forgive 
me?" 

Jane's  happy  face  had  paled  during  this  halt- 


Truthful     Jane 

ing  monologue.  "  I'm  afraid  I  don't — under- 
stand," she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  Do  you — 
mean  that  you  are  sorry  you — told  me " 

"  I  ought  to  have  waited,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"And  if  you  had — waited?"  she  asked 
breathlessly. 

He  raised  his  unhappy  eyes  to  hers.  "If  you 
had  gone  back  to  England  free  and  rich  you 
would  have  been  glad  to  forget  America  and 
all  your  unhappy  experiences  here;  wouldn't 
you,  Jane?  Why,  when  I  think  that  I  have 
actually  sat  still  and  allowed  you  to  hand  me  my 
coffee  of  a  morning  I — I  hate  myself!  " 

"  I  hope,"  said  English  Jane  tranquilly,  "  that 
I  shall  be  allowed  to  hand  you  your  coffee  a 
great  many  mornings.  Every  morning,  in  fact, 
after  we — ."  A  great  wave  of  lovely  color 
rolled  gloriously  over  her  fair  face.  "  O 
John !  "  she  whispered,  "  didn't  you  mean  it 
when  you  told  me  that  you  loved  me  ?  " 

"Didn't  I  mean  it?"  he  echoed.  "Well, 
I  should  say  I  did !  "  And  he  looked  it,  to  her 

complete  satisfaction.     "  But " 

312 


Truthful     Jane 

'  You  loved  me  when  all  the  world  despised 
me,"  murmured  Jane.  "  I  shall  never  forget 
that.  Besides,"  she  added  shyly,  "  I — love  you, 
and  it  would  break  my  heart  to " 

"  Darling!  "  exclaimed  John  Everett.  "  Then 
we'll  be  married  to-morrow.  For  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  Jane,  I'm  downright  afraid  to  let  you  go 
back  to  England  alone." 

Of  course  this  ridiculously  hasty  decision  of 
John  Everett's  had  to  be  severely  modified  and 
reconstructed  by  the  various  ladies  nearly  con- 
cerned in  the  case.  Bertha  Forbes,  for  one,  im- 
mediately took  a  hand  in  the  affair  and  pooh- 
poohed  the  notion  of  such  unseemly  haste. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  this  young  man, 
anyhow,  that  you  should  be  willing  to  marry  him 
out  of  hand  in  this  mad  fashion?"  she  de- 
manded with  decided  acrimony. 

"  I  love  him,"  Jane  replied,  with  stubborn 
tranquillity.  "  I  shall  never  love  anyone  else," 
she  added  confidently. 

"  What  about  Mr.  Towle?  "  inquired  Bertha 
coolly. 

313 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

"  Mr.  Towle!  "  echoed  Jane,  with  an  air  of 
extreme  surprise.  "  What,  pray,  has  Mr.  Towle 
to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Isn't  he  a  lover  of  yours?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  help  that"  pouted  Jane, 
with  a  shrug  of  her  slim  shoulders.  "  He  is  ages 
older  than  I  am,  and  besides " 

"  Well,"  grunted  Miss  Forbes,  "  go  on;  what 
other  crimes  has  he  committed?  " 

"  Of  course  he  can't  help  being  bald,  poor 
man.  But,  Bertha,  he  came  to  see  me  one  day  at 
Mrs.  Belknap's ;  I  can  never  forgive  him  for  that. 
Fancy  his  waiting  in  the  kitchen,  and  being  sent 
away — like  a — like  a  butcher's  boy  I  But  that 
wasn't  enough,  even ;  he  came  back  and  persisted 
in  talking  to  me  on  the  kitchen  porch.  Do 
you  know  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Buster  interrupt- 
ing, just  as  he  did,  I  actually  believe  I  should 
have — that  is,  I  might  have — and  only  think, 
Bertha,  how  horrible  that  would  have  been! 
No;  he  shouldn't  have  come.  I  shall  always 
think  so." 

Miss  Forbes  stared  meditatively  at  the  girl 


Truthful     Jane 

for  a  long  minute;  then  she  burst  into  what  Jane 
was  disposed  to  regard  as  unreasoning  laughter 
of  the  variety  which  was  once  sapiently  char- 
acterized as  "  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a 
pot." 

"  I  can't  see,"  observed  Jane,  very  grave  and 
dignified,  "  why  you  should  laugh.  There  was 
nothing  to  laugh  about  in  what  I  said." 

Miss  Forbes  instantly  grew  sober.  "  Heaven 
forfend  that  you  should  ever  see,  my  dear  child," 
she  observed  in  a  grandmotherly  tone,  "  and  far 
be  it  from  me  to  attempt  an  explanation!  Sup- 
pose we  talk  about  clothes,  instead.  And — how 
will  you  ever  go  to  work  to  metamorphose  that 
late  imperious  mistress  of  yours  into  a  fond 
sister-in-law  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Belknap  came  to  the  front  full  of 
tears  and  handsome  apologies  and  congratula- 
tions, all  mixed  up  with  embarrassed  blushes  and 
smiles,  and  wouldn't  dear  Jane  forgive  her,  and 
in  token  thereof  be  married  from  her  house? 

Jane  was  inclined  to  be  a  trifle  stiff  with  her 
prospective  sister-in-law  at  first.  Recent  menv 
315 


Truthful     Jane 

ories  were  far  too  poignant  to  admit  of  the  new 
relationship  with  real  cordiality.  But  she  re- 
lented perceptibly  when  Master  Belknap  flung 
himself  upon  her  with  glad  cries  of  joy. 

"  I  yuve  my  Jane !  "  he  cooed  confidentially. 
"  I'm  doin'  to  div'  oo  my  fwannel  el'phunt  an' 
— an'  my  wed  bwocks,  if  'oo  won't  cwi  any  more, 
Jane." 

"  You  must  call  her  Aunt  Jane  now,  Buster," 
observed  his  uncle,  who  was  watching  the  scene 
with  an  air  of  proud  proprietorship. 

"  I  yuve  my  Aunt  Jane,"  amended  the  infant 
docilely.  Then,  eyeing  his  male  relative  with  a 
searching  gaze,  "  Have  you  dot  any  choc'late 
dwops,  Uncle  Jack?" 

Jane  laughed  outright  at  this. 

"You'll  come;  won't  you,  dear  Jane?" 
pleaded  Mrs.  Belknap,  seizing  the  auspicious 
moment. 

"  I'm  afraid  Mary  MacGrotty  would 

"  She's  gone,  thank  Heaven !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Belknap  with  a  shudder.  "  I  haven't  a  soul 
in  the  house." 

316 


Truthful     Jane 

"  And  I  can't  cook,  you  know,"  murmured 
Jane  teasingly,  as  she  hid  her  blushing  face  on 
the  infant's  small  shoulders. 

"  Don't  rub  it  in,  Jane,"  advised  Mr.  Belknap 
urgently.  "  We'll  have  a  caterer  and  everything 
shipshape.  Later,  though,  when  you're  back 
from  England  you'll  do  well  to  let  Madge  here 
give  you  some  cooking  lessons.  Buster  and  I 
would  have  starved  to  death  long  ago  if  we 
hadn't  been  able  to  keep  our  cook;  wouldn't  we, 
old  fellow?  "  And  he  tossed  his  son  and  heir 
high  above  his  head  amid  a  burst  of  infant  ex- 
uberance. 

And  so  it  was  finally  settled.  The  excellent 
Bertha  Forbes  handed  over  her  official  duties 
to  an  underling  for  a  whole  week,  while  she 
shopped  and  sewed  and  fetched  and  carried  for 
Jane  with  an  untiring  devotion,  which  earned 
that  small  person's  lasting  gratitude  and  friend- 
ship. On  the  day  of  the  simple  home  wedding 
Miss  Forbes  stood  up,  tall  and  grenadier-like, 
bearing  the  bride's  bouquet,  with  so  uncompro- 
mising an  air  and  manner  that  Master  Belknap 

21  317 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

actually  desisted  from  three  several  pieces  of 
mischief  while  he  gazed  solemnly  at  her  with 
large,  round  eyes. 

When  the  last  flutter  of  pearl-gray  veil  and 
white  handkerchief  had  faded  from  view  on  the 
deck  of  the  retreating  steamer,  Miss  Forbes 
wiped  her  eyes  openly.  "  I'm  glad  she's  gone," 
she  said  sternly.  "  She  ought  never  to  have 
come." 

"  If  Miss  Jane  Aubrey-Blythe  had  not  entered 
this  port  with  five  thousand  dollars  of  lace  upon 
her  person,  she  would  not  now  be  leaving  it  un- 
der such  happy  auspices,"  observed  Mr.  Belk- 
nap  mildly.  "  And  that,  Miss  Forbes,  would 
be  on  the  whole,  a  regrettable  circumstance ;  don't 
you  agree  with  me?  " 

"  Hum !  "  said  Bertha  Forbes,  rather  shame- 
facedly, "  I  bought  in  some  of  that  very  lace 
at  a  customhouse  sale.  It  was  that  which 
trimmed  her  wedding  dress.  I  thought " — 
firmly — "  that  it  was  no  more  than  right." 

Mr.  Belknap  cast  an  admiring  glance  at  the 
lady.  "  Miss  Forbes,"  he  said  feelingly,  "  your 


Truth  f ul    Jane 

sense  of  poetic  justice  does  you  credit;  it  does 
indeed.  I  hope  we  shall  see  a  lot  of  you  in  the 
future.  Our  house  on  Staten  Island  is  always 
open  to  you." 

4  Thanks,"  said  Bertha  Forbes  gruffly.  But 
she  shook  hands  with  right  manly  heartiness 
when  she  took  leave  of  the  little  party  on  the 
dock,  and  she  actually  kissed  the  infant,  while 
depositing  an  unwholesomely  large  box  of  con- 
fectionery in  the  pocket  of  his  coat.  "  It  is  a 
shame  to  call  this  child  Buster"  said  Miss 
Forbes.  "  I  detest  the  name  myself;  think  it 
exerts  a  positively  demoralizing  influence  on  the 
character.  /  shall  call  him  Everett  in  future." 

And  she  did  so  on  the  numerous  pleasant  oc- 
casions when  she  visited  the  Belknap  family. 

As  for  Master  Everett,  thus  happily  restored 
to  his  rightful  appellation,  he  actually  came  to 
adore  Miss  Forbes,  and  called  her  his  "  dear  old 
Berfa,"  to  her  immense  delight  and  satisfaction. 


319 


CHAPTER   XXI 

ONE  morning  two  weeks  later  as  Lady  Aga- 
tha Aubrey-Blythe,  her  daughter  Gwendolen, 
and  her  two  sons  Percy  and  Cecil  were  gath- 
ered rather  aimlessly  in  Lady  Agatha's  private 
morning-room,  "  a  lady "  was  announced,  as 
desirous  of  speaking  with  Lady  Agatha. 

"  Who  is  it,  Susan?  "  asked  Lady  Agatha  of 
the  maid,  who  appeared  all  of  a  tremble  with 
some  carefully  suppressed  excitement. 

"  Oh,  my  lady,  it's  Miss  Jane  Evelyn  as  ever 
was !  "  declared  Susan,  beaming  with  doubtful 
delight. 

"  It's  Jane!  "  exclaimed  the  group  in  concert. 

"  Show  her  up  at  once,  Susan,"  said  Lady 
Agatha,  with  a  graciousness  which  allayed  poor 
Susan's  fears.  "  Children,"  she  added,  turning 
to  her  attentive  offspring,  "  you  must  remember 
that  our  dear  Jane  is  quite  an  heiress  now." 
320 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

Gwendolen  put  up  a  haughty  lip.  "  I  don't 
want  her  here,  even  if  she  is,"  she  said  disagree- 
ably. 

"  Of  course  you  don't ! "  crowed  Percy. 
"  Jane's  a  beauty  and  you  aren't !  " 

"  Percy — my  son  I  "  exclaimed  Lady  Agatha 
warningly,  and  swept  forward  to  greet  the  small, 
slight,  bright-eyed  person  who  entered  the  room 
escorted  by  the  broadly  smiling  Susan. 

"  My  dear  Jane !  "  murmured  Lady  Agatha, 
enfolding  the  little  figure  in  her  voluminous  em- 
brace. "  How  we  have  suffered  since  your  cruel 
desertion  of  us!  " 

"  I  suppose  it  must  have  annoyed  you,  Aunt 
Agatha,"  said  Jane  sweetly.  "  But  it  couldn't 
be  helped,  you  see." 

Then  she  turned  to  the  two  boys,  who  had 
greeted  her  vociferously,  and  to  Gwendolen,  who 
sulkily  offered  a  cheek  to  be  kissed. 

The  girl's  bright  eyes  were  misty  and  she 

trembled  a  little  as  she  looked  from  one  to  the 

other.    English  sights  and  sounds  and  faces  had 

never  seemed  so  delightful,  yet  she  was  no  less 

321 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

determined  upon  leaving  them  all  for  the  land  of 
her  adoption.  ^3  '  , 

"  How  much  money  did  Uncle  Foxhall  leave 
me?  "  she  asked,  after  the  buzz  of  greetings  and 
questions  had  somewhat  subsided. 

"Why,  don't  you  know,  my  dear?"  Lady 
Agatha  exclaimed.  "  I  thought  the  solicitors 
would  have  told  you  before  this.  It  is  not  a 
large  sum ;  but  it  will  serve  to  alter  your  future 
materially.  It  is  a  trifle  short  of  twelve  thousand 
pounds,  I  believe;  but  with  that  at  your  back  I 
shall  be  able  to  arrange  a  very  suitable  marriage 
for  you,  I  am  sure.  In  fact,  I  have  already  men- 
tioned quite  an  eligible  parti  to  your  uncle,  a  Mr. 
Gildersleeve.  He  is  a  widower  of  excellent  fam- 
ily, my  dear  Jane,  and  quite  suitable  in  every 
respect." 

"  He's  an  old  frump,"  put  in  Gwendolen,  with 
a  hateful  little  laugh,  "  but  I  dare  say  he'll  do 
for  Jane." 

"  My  dear  Gwendolen  I  "  protested  Lady 
Agatha.  "  Of  course,  now  that  you  can  afford 
to  dress  in  a  manner  becoming  to  your  station, 
322 


Truthful     Jane 

Jane,  I  shall  not  mind  taking  you  out  with  Gwen- 
dolen— at  least,  occasionally.  By  the  way,  that 
is  a  very  pretty  frock  you  are  wearing.  Where 
did  you  get  it,  my  dear?  " 

"  This  is  an  American  gown,"  said  Jane, 
drawing  up  her  little  figure  with  a  proud  smile, 
"  and  this,"  she  added  tremulously,  "  is  an 
American — ring." 

"  What! — a  wedding  ring!  You  are  not  mar- 
ried already  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jane,  with  a  blush  that  made  her 
look  handsomer  than  ever.  "  My  husband  is 
waiting  for  me  downstairs.  I  should  like  you  to 
meet  him,  Aunt  Agatha,  and  you" — including 
the  others  with  her  smiling  glance.  "  He  is  an 
American,"  she  finished,  with  a  touch  of  hauteur 
which  was  not  lost  on  Lady  Agatha,  "  and  we 
sail  for — home  a  week  from  to-day." 

Being  doubly  assured  of  this  desirable  denoue- 
ment^ Lady  Agatha  actually  went  to  the  length 
of  giving  a  family  dinner  party  in  honor  of  her 
niece  by  marriage,  and  to  this  dubious  merry- 
making the  Hon.  Wippingler  Towle  was  bidden 
323 


Truthful    Jane 

by  the  express  commands  of  the  master  of  the 
house. 

"  You've  clean  thrown  away  a  good  lump  of 
money,  Towle,"  grumbled  Mr.  Aubrey-Blythe ; 
"  but  perhaps  it  will  afford  you  some  satisfaction 
to  look  at  the  hole." 

"  I  shall  certainly  be  glad  of  the  opportunity 
to  meet — er — Mrs.  Everett  once  more,"  Mr. 
Towle  said  politely.  "  But  I — er — don't  quite 
follow  you  in  your  remark  about  the  money." 
His  stern  eyes  actually  threatened  his  friend. 
"  I  am  told  that  your  niece  has  lately  inherited  a 
small  legacy  by  the  bequest  of — er — a  deceased 
relative,  which  will,  I  trust,  make  her  quite  com- 
fortable and  happy  in  her  new  home." 

"  Damn  it,  Towle !  "  blustered  Mr.  Robert 
Aubrey-Blythe,  in  the  language  of  the  hunting 
field;  "  I  can't  follow  your  lead,  sir;  I'd  come  a 
damned  cropper,  if  I  tried." 

"  Don't  try,  then,"  advised  Mr.  Towle  curtly. 

Being  duly  presented  to  the  bride  and  to  the 
groom,  who  comported  himself  on  the  happy  oc- 
casion with  an  ease  and  composure  which  Lady 
324 


Truthful     Jane 

Agatha  Aubrey-Blythe  later  characterized  as 
"  brazen  American  boldness,"  Mr.  Towle  shook 
hands  with  both,  with  such  a  singular  and  un- 
pleasant mist  clouding  his  glass  that  he  was 
immediately  thereafter  obliged  to  resort  to  a 
vigorous  and  prolonged  use  of  his  large,  scented 
cambric  handkerchief.  And  this  circumstance 
spared  him  the  knowledge  of  Jane's  smiling 
coldness  of  manner. 

Later  in  the  evening  Mr.  Towle  found  him- 
self unable  to  resist  the  opportunity  of  a  tete-a 
tete  which  Gwendolen's  half  sneering,  half  curi- 
ous appropriation  of  the  young  American  made 
possible.  Jane  was  seated  upon  a  sofa  engaged 
in  a  wholly  hollow  and  perfunctory  conversation 
with  Lady  Agatha,  when  Mr.  Towle  tentatively 
approached.  Lady  Agatha  instantly  made  room 
for  him  with  an  air  of  undisguised  relief  which 
brought  a  faint  smile  to  Jane's  lips. 

When  she  looked  up  to  greet  her  late  elderly 

suitor  she  was  still  smiling,  and  the  circumstance 

gave  him  courage  to  say,  rather  stiffly :  "  I  have 

not  as  yet — er — spoken  with  you  upon  the  sub- 

325 


Truth  f  u  1     Jane 

ject  of  your  marriage,  Mrs. — ah — Everett;  I 
trust  you  will  permit  me  to  wish  you  all  happi- 
ness, and — er " 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Towle,"  said  Jane  sweetly. 

She  had  already  acquired,  he  reflected,  the 
self-possessed  air  of  the  young  matron,  and  her 
clear  eyes  were  gazing  at  him  with  a  shade  of 
retrospection  in  their  depths.  She  was  thinking 
— and  the  man  was  unhappily  aware  of  the  fact 
— "  what  if  I  had  married  you !  " 

She  sighed  gently  and  stole  a  glance  at  her 
young  husband,  who  was  smiling  with  open 
amusement  at  Gwendolen's  clumsy  attempts  to 
make  game  of  him.  "  I  fear,"  she  said  kindly, 
"  that  I  was  very  rude  to  you  the  last  time  I  saw 
you.  But  I " 

He  waited  for  her  to  go  on. 

"  I  was  really  very  unhappy,  and  when  one  is 
unhappy " 

Again  she  paused  to  glance   at  the  young 

American  whose  handsome,  vigorous  head  stood 

out  in  bold  relief  against  the  crimson  cushions  of 

his  chair.     "  When  one  is  unhappy  it  is  difficult 

326 


Truthful    Jane 

to — to  be  just  to  others.  I  have  talked  it  all 
over  with  my — with  Mr.  Everett  since  our  mar- 
riage, and  he  says  you  were  a  brick — a  brick; 
yes,  I  am  quite  sure  that  is  what  he  called  you ; 
but  it  really  means  something  very  nice  and — 
square.  You  see  words  in  America  frequently 
mean  something  far  different  from  what  one  has 
always  supposed;  and  I  am  learning  as  fast  as 
I  can.  But  my  husband  says  that  I  did  not  ap- 
preciate how  awfully  kind  it  was  of  you  to  come 
to  America  just  to  look  for  me.  You  did  come 
for  that;  didn't  you?" 

"  I  had,"  said  Mr.  Towle  gravely,  "  no  other 
motive  in  going  to  America." 

14  Well,  that  being  the  case,"  Jane  went  on 
rapidly,  "  it  wasn't  a  bit  nice  of  me  to  send  you 
away  without  a  word  of  explanation;  now  was 
it?  But  this  is  the  real,  true  reason;  I  don't 
mind  telling  it  now."  She  paused  to  smile  hap- 
pily to  herself — "  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mr. 
Everett  coming  up  the  street,  and — and  I 
thought  it  would  be  very  awkward  for  you — for 
him — to  meet  just  then.  I  hope  you  are  not  too 
327 


Truth  fu  1     Jane 

horribly  vexed  with  me?"  She  smiled  bril- 
liantly upon  him,  with  an  obvious  desire  to  be 
at  peace  with  all  her  little  world. 

"  Hum — ah,"  began  Mr.  Towle,  eyeing  the 
wistful  little  face  which  was  inclined  toward  his 
with  a  sternness  born  of  his  determination  not 
to  make  a  fool  of  himself.  "  I — I  beg  to  assure 
you,  Mrs.  Everett,  that  I — er — quite  under- 
stand, and  I  am  not  disposed  to " 

Jane's  eyes  drooped ;  so  did  the  corners  of  her 
mouth.  "  I  never  seem  able  to  say  the  right 
thing  at  the  right  time,"  she  said  mournfully. 
"  I  see  that  I  have  offended  you  again,  and  I  only 
meant  to  tell  you — to  apologize  for " 

;<  Jane,"  said  Mr.  Towle,  in  the  deep,  caress- 
ing tone  which  Jane  had  heard  only  twice  before 
from  his  lips,  "  I  forgive  you  for — everything, 
and  I  hope  you  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  hope  for  nothing  better  in  life  than  to 
hear  that  all  is  going  well  with  you,  and  that 
you  are — happy." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jane  softly.  Her  eyes 
beamed  kindly  upon  him.  "  You  are  very 
328 


Truthful     Jane 

good,"  she  said;  "  I  think  I  shall  be  even  hap- 
pier because  you  have  said  this." 

And  the  Hon.  Whipplinger  Towle  in  his 
own  peculiarly  patient,  middle-aged  fashion 
blessed  her  in  his  heart  of  hearts  for  that  little 
word  "  even."  It  was,  in  a  way,  one  of  those 
crumbs  which  sometimes  fall  from  a  rich  man's 
table,  and  as  such  he  thankfully  appropriated  it 
as  his  own  meager  share  of  the  loaf  which  an 
unfriendly  Fate  had  denied  him. 


(i) 


THE    END 


329 


THE  LEADING  NOVEL  OF  TODAY. 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS.  Illustrated  by  A.  B, 
Wenzell.  I2mo.  Ornamental  Cloth,  $1.50. 

In  "  The  Fighting  Chance "  Mr.  Chambers  has  taken 
for  his  hero,  a  young  fellow  who  has  inherited  with  his 
wealth  a  craving  for  liquor.  The  heroine  has  inherited  a 
certain  rebelliousness  and  dangerous  caprice.  The  two, 
meeting  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  fight  out  their  battles,  two 
weaknesses  joined  with  love  to  make  a  strength.  It  is  re- 
freshing to  find  a  story  about  the  rich  in  which  all  the 
women  are  not  sawdust  at  heart,  nor  all  the  men  satyrs. 
The  rich  have  their  longings,  their  ideals,  their  regrets, 
as  well  as  the  poor ;  they  have  their  struggles  and  inherited 
evils  to  combat.  It  is  a  big  subject,  painted  with  a  big 
brush  and  a  big  heart. 

"  After  '  The  House  of  Mirth '  a  New  York  society  novel 
has  to  be  very  good  not  to  suffer  fearfully  by  comparison. 
'  The  Fighting  Chance '  is  very  good  and  it  does  not 
suffer." — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

"There  is  no  more  adorable  person  in  recent  fiction 
than  Sylvia  Landis." — New  York  Evening  Sun. 

"  Drawn  with  a  master  hand." — Toledo  Blade. 

"An  absorbing  tale  which  claims  the  reader's  interest 
to  the  end."— Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  Mr.  Chambers  has  written  many  brilliant  stories,  but 
this  is  his  masterpiece." — Pittsburg  Chronicle  Telegraph. 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


A  MASTERPIECE  OF  FICTION. 

The  Guarded  Flame. 

By  W.    B.  MAXWELL,  Author  of  "Vivien." 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  '  The  Guarded  Flame,  by  W.  B.  Maxwell,  is  a  boo* 
to  challenge  the  attention  of  the  reading  public  as  a  re- 
markable study  of  moral  law  and  its  infraction.  Mr.  Max- 
well is  the  son  of  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon  (Mrs.  John  Maxwell), 
whose  novels  were  famous  a  generation  ago,  and  his  first 
book  'Vivien'  made  the  English  critics  herald  him  as  a 
new  force  in  the  world  of  letters.  '  The  Guarded  Flame ' 
is  an  even  more  astonishing  production,  a  big  book  that 
takes  rank  with  the  most  important  fiction  of  the  year. 
It  is  not  a  book  for  those  who  read  to  be  amused  or  to  be 
entertained.  It  touches  the  deepest  issues  of  life  and  death." 

— Albany  Argus. 

"  The  most  powerfully  written  book  of  the  year." 

—  The  Independent. 

" '  The  Guarded  Flame '  is  receiving  high  praise  from 
the  critics  everywhere." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"This  is  a  book  which  cannot  fail  to  make  its  mark." 

— Detroit  News. 

"Great  novels  are  few  and  the  appearance  of  one  at 
any  period  must  give  the  early  reviewer  a  thrill  of  discovery. 
Such  a  one  has  come  unheralded  ;  but  from  a  source  whence 
it  might  have  been  confidently  expected.  The  author  is 
W.  B.  Maxwell,  son  of  the  voluminous  novelist  known  to 
the  world  as  Miss  Braddon.  His  novel  is  entitled  '  The 
Guarded  Flame.'  " — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  The  books  of  W.  B.  Maxwell  are  essentially  for  think- 
ers."— St.  Louis  Post-Dispatch. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


